Hero is a Relative Term
by weedonscott
Summary: The next generation of heroes may not think so highly of Angel & Co., but that's the least of their problems. COMPLETED! Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** All characters from the show are Joss Whedon's, and I am not making any money off of this (Lord knows), and etc…

**Summary:** The next generation of heroes may not think so highly of Angel & Co. One-shot unless otherwise asked. Please R&R!

Sequestered deep in the innards of New York City was a place where the sun never seemed to shine. No matter how bright the summer sky or how brilliant the winter morning, life seemed to exist there only because it had no other place to go, trudging along through hopeless hour after hopeless hour, in torment never-ending. No, it was not hell; not as most people think of it. But it may very well have been built from the same blueprints.

In a series of rooms nestled precariously in a condemned office building from the 1920's, life's only line of defense in that part of the city tried to live. One adult, a demon nearly full-grown, three teenagers, and a girl of twelve. Scraping by in four ramshackle rooms, surrounded by evil.

"Ah, the life of a hero," said Ivane dryly. "My compliments to the chef." He poked the "soup" suspiciously with a spoon. "What did you say this was?"

"Some kind of stew," Lilah answered, sitting down on the floor with a cracked bowl to join the others. "Nancy Gramn sent it over as a thank-you. She said there were tomatoes and, uh..." She swirled the thick liquid around. "Carrots."

Jenna and Niki made identical disgusted faces, and Kearm looked around as though hoping to see an excuse to leave. The room in which they sat was lined with cupboards, and although it was mostly clean, the dingy paint was peeling off the walls in splotches, the window was boarded up, and the floor sagged noticeably in the middle.

"You should be thankful." Carlotta, tall and thin with short reddish hair and Italian eyes, strode into the room. She was the Slayer. "If it wasn't for this, we wouldn't be eating tonight." They looked at her, disappointed but not surprised.

"So soon?" Ivane asked. The seventeen-year-old Watcher was the serious one, who seemed to think everything was his responsibility and blamed himself when things went wrong.

"Yep." Carlotta sighed, helping herself to a bowlful. "We'd better get our hands on something to eat soon."

Kearm surreptitiously emptied his bowl back into the pot. The less he ate, the more there would be for the others. Lilah caught him with her eyes and his dark blue skin went slightly darker in embarrassment. But she nodded knowingly. She didn't try to stop him, and she did not bring attention to what he had done. It shamed her to admit it, but Lilah Morgan had fallen so far in the world that she often found herself giving up her meals so that others could eat. Her appearance had not changed much, although her clothes were cheaper and less well-kept, and she had lost weight. It was in her face that the greatest change was visible; her eyes no longer radiated evil. They were still strong, still arrogant, scornful, hateful, or even cruel at times, but they had changed. Now, it seemed, she cared.

"...Lilah!"

Lilah shook herself.

"Sorry, Niki, what did you say?" she asked, turning to the little girl. Niki was twelve, but she looked eight. Lilah blamed her witch of a mother for that. She had pale, pale skin, almost the color of the white blond hair that was just beginning to grow back in the patches from which it had been pulled out.

"I said, why don't we tell stories, Lilah!" The little girl beamed up at her.

"Uh, sure, if you want to, ask someone to tell you a story." It felt odd, giving her permission to do something so simple. But Niki was very strange.

She was a genius, no doubt about that. She had taught herself to read around age three (she wasn't sure exactly when), and she remembered almost everything she read. She knew an extraordinary amount about demons and all sorts of other evil creatures, and understood things better than most adults. But emotionally, she was even younger than her twelve years. Her drug-addict mother had seen to it. When she felt intelligent, she could have been a Harvard graduate. At other times, she was four years old.

"Tell me a story, 'Lottie!" Niki cried. Carlotta sighed and shook her head.

"I can't think of a story right now, Niki," she told her, patting her on the head. "Not sitting in this place..." she looked around despairingly, "not like this."

"There are worse places, Carlotta," Kearm said softly. "Not to sound like a Sunday School teacher, but you should be thankful." Carlotta sighed again.

"Let's hear a story from Lilah," she suggested.

"Why me?"

"Because your stories are disturbing and depressing and true. I don't think I could deal with hope and happily-ever-afters right now."

Lilah knew what she meant. A cold, driving rain was lashing the walls outside, and the dampness had already begun to invade the network of rooms. She knew plenty of true stories for times like these. Times when the good guys were cold and hungry and knew perfectly well that the evil ones were warm and safe. Times when the good guys were nothing but a barely-registered blip on the bad guys' radar. Times when it seemed that all that was left of the good fight was a former demon slave, an orphaned Seer, a bitter, one-armed Slayer, two abused runaways and a lawyer who had once been the driving force behind half the evil in the Northern Hemisphere, and had then been pulled out of hell and turned to fighting demons for the sake of her former lover.

"Which one should I tell?"

"Tell us about... the corruption," Carlotta demanded suddenly. "The heroes you corrupted back when you were evil."

Lilah sighed and shook her head.

"The corrupted heroes. Oh, yeah, I remember them," she muttered. "Why would you want to hear about those guys? What a bunch of sell-outs. Acted all high and mighty, but hit them in a low moment and POW!" Niki jumped. "They leaped at the bait like it was a gift from God. Traitors. They wouldn't admit it, but it was what they wanted. To be able to give up, to rest, to take the easy way out. Sell-outs."

"Has it occurred to you, Lilah, that maybe they had a plan? That they thought they could beat the system from within? Or maybe they just didn't see the trap for what it was."

"Oh, they saw it all right. We knew they would take it. We knew they were desperate enough. We handed them damnation and destruction and they took it. They were corrupted and they didn't even realize it. They didn't know it would be better to die. God, what a bunch of traitors, Angel and his friends."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary** – A little more about the next group of heroes. Please R&R!

**Disclaimer** – Lilah's not mine, not making money, "Angel" and "Buffy" are Joss Whedon's.

**Oh, my Lord, you have no idea how happy I am that someone asked me to continue this! I read the review and started jumping up and down! Thank you so much!**

They did not consider themselves heroes. "Los Hermanos Numeros" had been heroes. Buffy and her friends in Sunnydale had been heroes. Hell, even Angel and his cronies, before they turned traitor, had been heroes. They, however, were not.

They were just people, living on the new Hellmouth that had decimated New York City, trying to survive while still doing the right thing. Just doing what they felt they were meant to do couldn't possibly qualify as heroism, could it?

Carlotta had been the first to fight. Back when the acid-tongued Slayer still had both her arms, she had been called after Faith's replacement was killed. Her Watcher had been told to bring the ass-kicking, fourteen-year-old homeless girl to New York, where the long-dormant Hellmouth had started to bubble following the closing of the California one. Within a half a year, the Watcher was decapitated. Four months after that, the second Watcher was skinned and eaten. The third one simply disappeared and was never seen again. Carlotta tried to refuse a Watcher, convinced it was her fault that they had died, but the Council did their duty, which for once turned out to be a good thing. They sent the most amazing person the Slayer had ever met.

Nora Thomas was refined, clever, well-trained… and the mother Carlotta never had. Nora brought together a group of misfits and made them care for each other, made a bunch of nobodies feel like somebodies.

Jenna joined them first. Running from the temporarily-weakened clutches of Wolfram and Hart, Jenna and her parents fled across the country, following Jenna and her mother's hereditary visions to keep safe. At last taking refuge in New York, they had thought themselves home free until the winter night when a Special Ops team appeared on their doorstep. Carlotta barely arrived in time to save Jenna, but her parents were not so lucky. Both of them were taken away and imprisoned in Wolfram and Hart.

Taken in by Nora and Carlotta, Jenna learned not only how to fight, but how to bide her time, how to wait until she was strong enough before trying to take her parents back. She matured quickly, soon becoming invaluable to the Slayer and her Watcher, providing them with a much-needed link to the Powers That Be. Jenna helped Carlotta focus her efforts, moved her beyond random patrolling to strategic, calculated attacks on the evil that now congregated around Lower Manhattan and parts of Brooklyn. In demon circles, their names became words to be whispered if they were said at all.

Only Nora could have kept the grief-crazed girl from attempting revenge on the powerful company that had stolen her parents. But something about the way the Watcher looked at her, as though she truly understood, helped Jenna come to realize that revenge would simply burn her up, gutting her from the inside out, and a single-minded automaton would be of no use to her parents. So she waited. The time would come, she told herself. The time would come.

Be that as it may, however, Jenna did find it a bit hard to accept the next person to join their little group; could she really be expected to believe that one of Wolfram and Hart's top lawyers had suddenly felt the twinge of conscience? Spat out of Hell – not only was it enormously unlikely, but it certainly did not make it sound as if she could be trusted. A woman whose motives are unknown, who claims that Hell released her for reasons of which she herself is not entirely aware, and who has changed her alliance from absolute evil to a desperate quest for good… well, a vampire had supposedly done it once, but Jenna wasn't sure she believed that story either.

But Nora, once again, came to the rescue. Lilah Morgan had never been the thankful type, but she was more grateful than she could say when Nora Thomas decided that she could be trusted. Nora just had that ability with people; one look at them and she could tell what was in their hearts. And only Nora really understood how terrified Lilah was of dying before she could good-deed her way out of Hell. Carlotta and Jenna ignored Lilah's nightmares and responded only to the one side of her that Lilah would let them see – the determined, tough-as-nails young woman who was dead-set on doing good even if her purpose was unclear. Nora, however, somehow made the nightmares seem bearable. With her, working alongside the Slayer and the Seer, Lilah sometimes felt that there was hope.

Suddenly finding herself in the care of someone she loved for the first time in her life, Carlotta gained a level of strength and experience rarely matched, even among Slayers. It seemed she would soon become a legend to rival the renowned Sunnydale Slayer herself, but as in the case of every Slayer in history, disaster eventually struck. Shortly before Carlotta's sixteenth birthday, Nora was turned by a vampire and set on her adopted daughter.

Carlotta survived the encounter, but the proof that she was not a storybook hero came in the fact that she did not escape unscathed. Barely able to speak, and missing an arm, the Council realized that she could not last long, and alerted their Watchers to monitor the Potentials closely, as the next one was likely to be called at any moment.

But weeks passed, and Carlotta did not die. She began to speak, and to hunt again. The name of the Slayer was once more inspiring fear. But still, the Council argued, how long could she last with one arm? Best to send her a Watcher to be with her in the final days, and then leave. It did not need to be someone particularly good. So Ivane was told to pack his bags.

Seventeen, fresh out of the Academy, he had never shown much potential as a Watcher. He dyed his hair green and spoke very little, and his only friend seemed to be a blue-skinned demon he had picked up somewhere in the mystical bazaars. He was not prepared by the Council for life on the Hellmouth, and he was not told what had happened to Carlotta's other Watchers. He was merely a temporary measure.

But, somehow, when he arrived in New York, blue-skinned Kearm in tow, he was not killed. His Slayer clearly despised him, and as a result he nearly lost his life several times, but somewhere he had learned to hold his own in a fight. Kearm fought at his side as he struggled to watch over Carlotta, and the two of them made a fighting team that caused cold dread fingers to run up the spines of every demon who heard of them.

But Carlotta hated him. Sure, he was a lot less useless than some of her Watchers had been, but he was Nora's replacement, and for that she would never forgive him. She never gave him a kind glance or a civil word, and more often than not if he was in her way she would backhand him out of it. And only very reluctantly did she agree to let him stay with Lilah, Jenna and herself. Ivane told himself that the three of them were just like that; that they distrusted outsiders and that was what he was. He forced himself to be content with helping the Slayer train and with providing the occasional information on a demon from his small but thorough library. He would always be an outsider, he told himself. The girls would never let anyone in.

So imagine his surprise when Kearm was assimilated into the group the moment they finally met. The Slayer was fascinated by Kearm's in-depth knowledge of demon lore and fighting techniques, Jenna found him to be extremely adept at interpreting her visions, and his easy laugh and dry jokes won even Lilah over.

The little girl that Kearm had suddenly taken in was accepted instantly as well. Hearing her tell her story brought tears to even Ivane's stoic eyes. Her mother had been addicted to the mystical drug, Orpheus, for decades, so that in addition to neglect and abuse, Nikki had been forced to deal with a severe distortion of the way she perceived the world from the day she was born. She was a genius, a child prodigy, but, treated like dirt by her mother, she had not matured emotionally in the usual way. Her feelings developed more slowly than her brain and body, and, somehow, this gave her the impulse to store away every experience for future use. In other words, not only was she brilliant, she had a perfect memory.

Ivane felt terrible. What kind of person was he, that he was jealous, not only of his best friend, but of this poor little girl? Kearm was doing more training with Carlotta than he was, and with Nikki's enormous store of knowledge and the impossibility of her forgetting it, the Watcher was no longer called upon for questions of tactics or demonology. Besides which, they were both far more likable than he was. Kearm was funny, and Nikki was adorable. Ivane had become the proverbial fifth wheel.

A heavily cloaked vampire slipped from shadow to shadow, clouds of smoke rising every time he ventured into the sun. At last he arrived at a shady-looking bar with a picture of a burning cross painted on the blacked-out window. Ordinarily, it wouldn't be open at this time, but the owner had decided to make an exception for a customer he couldn't afford to insult. The door swung creakily open, and the vampire rushed inside, recovering his cool once he was out of the sun's danger. He sauntered over to the bar, where the only other patron of the place sat. Even the bartender was nowhere to be seen.

"Well?" the patron asked without preamble. "Let's hear it."

"You got it, boss." The vampire hung his long, scorched coat on the corner of the bar and sat down to the customer's left. "Here's the deal; if you want to… run your business, there are five people you have to worry about. Number one is the Slayer. Now, everyone knows that her last Watcher is currently floating on the breeze, so it's generally assumed that she's one-armed and Watcherless."

"I know that," the customer growled. "This is not what I'm paying you for."

"I know, boss. Trust me, I'm going somewhere with this. See, losing an arm did not make the Slayer any less powerful. She dusted a buddy of mine just last week. And contrary to popular belief, she is _not_ Watcherless."

"What?"

"You heard it here first, boss. The Slayer's not alone. First of all, she's got that ex-Wolfram and Harter working with her; the dame with the tough-girl act and a wicked aim when it comes to a crossbow. Then there's the Seer. Not the greatest fighter, but there's a chance that she'll see whatever you've got coming. Happens to hate the Harter, though, so there's some dissention in the ranks you might be able to use.

"The little girl is obviously not a fighter, but her mother was an Orpheus addict, so there's no telling what you'll get there. Hit her on one of her bad days, you might be able to convince her to drink arsenic by telling her it's baby formula. Get her on a good day and you'll be down for the count six ways from next Tuesday." The customer winced at the informant's double cliché.

"Now here's where the interesting part comes in," the vampire continued, oblivious to his employer's scorn, and relishing every word like someone with the best gossip in the school. "You've heard of that pair of do-gooders, the Likhaih demon and the British guy with the green hair? Everyone's scared of them, deadly fighters, yadda yadda? Well the Likhaih – Kem, or something like that – is the Orpheus girl's best friend, and the Brit… is Carlotta's Watcher."

A hiss of air escaped the patron at the bar, and the vampire nodded ecstatically.

"It's true! He is! But for some reason, they all hate him! I mean, don't underestimate this guy, because he's not half as useless as Watchers usually are, but he's kind of an outsider, so if you want to pick them off one by one, do it before he gets a chance to be liked by anyone."

"Is that all the information you have?" The customer's voice was smooth and deadly.

"Every iota, boss."

"Did you go to night school?"

"Huh?"

"I had always figured you were too dumb to know a word like 'iota.'" Suddenly the voice was taunting, and the vampire felt his knees turn to water. That sing-song was the boss's trademark. He was done for. He was-

Before the vampire had time to finish the thought, the boss whipped out a stake from somewhere inside his long, black jacket, and the informant turned to dust with an expression of terror still on his face.

"So," the boss mused, brushing himself off and heading for the sewer entrance behind the bar. "Lilah's back." With that, Angelus disappeared into the darkness.

The bar was silent for several long moments, while the dust settled into the already dingy corners. Then the door opened and closed suddenly, and silence reigned.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary: **A vision, an argument, and an unexplained realization.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, no money, Joss Whedon's, yadda yadda.

**Thank you a million times over for reviewing! Imazadi, Rockerbaby, Becomingwhaturmeanttobe, and Ooper, thank you so much!**

Kearm woke first. This was fairly unusual. As a general rule, it was Ivane who got up at the crack of dawn, heading out before the sunrise to… do whatever it was Ivane did. If they were short on food, he would often come back with exactly what they needed from a source he refused to disclose. If not, he would return around noon, ravenous and looking drawn and exhausted. Kearm strongly suspected he was picking fights and killing demons one by one, drawing on that mysterious well of energy that seemed to supply him with an inexhaustible drive to combat evil. More accurately, as Kearm had discovered soon after first meeting him, Ivane simply threw himself at an adversary, battering at their walls until either he or his opponent dropped. It was that drive that had first drawn Kearm towards him; Ivane was the first person he had ever known who believed in a larger purpose, even if he had a strange way of showing it. _Laconic_ and _intense_ had never been traits that Kearm had imagined for his best friend.

Ivane had started stirring. Kearm checked his watch. Five o'clock. What the hell was any sane person doing up at this time? But sure enough, Ivane quietly dressed and left the room, unaware of Kearm watching him from under half-closed eyelids. He simply placed his blanket over Nikki, who had snuck into their room again to sleep next to the demon, and disappeared.

True to Kearm's prediction, he came back through the door three hours later, just as they were all about to leave. Kearm was taking Nikki to the library across the city, in the part of New York that was still predominantly human – she insisted she could go alone, seeing as her I.Q. was nearly twice her height in centimeters, but even during the daytime it wasn't safe to wander around on one's own. Lilah was heading out the door on her way to her "job"; she was acting as an unofficial go-between for several demon clans who were still working out territorial rights among themselves with very little regard for human life. Someone with her knowledge of: a) demon law and b) coming up smelling like roses from tricky situations was in an ideal position to manipulate their various treaties into a promise of peace. Carlotta and Jenna were both on their way to a bit of reconnaissance before their planned attack on a small nest of Ethros demons the following day.

Ivane came up from the stairwell, wordlessly placed a plastic bag on the table, and stood there looking awkward. He didn't seem to know what to do with himself next. Lilah glanced over and gave a wry grin.

"Food?" she asked. Ivane nodded.

"Sorry. Remember the vampire from the housing project on Thursday?"

Ivane nodded again.

"The landlord came by with enough food to feed an army. Apparently every single tenant decided to show their thanks with either a Jell-O mold or a crumb cake."

"Or a pot-pie!" Nikki piped up from the door.

"Or a pot-pie. So, help yourself. We're set for about a week." Ivane looked mildly surprised, but didn't say anything. He was reaching for the bag when Jenna gave a yelp and clapped her hands to her eyes.

Carlotta caught her immediately, easing her down into the small room's single chair. All preparations for leaving were instantly postponed as Jenna jerked back and forth spasmodically, fingers curled around her head. Sharp gasps and grunts escaped from between her teeth, clenched shut like a vise.

"Come on, Jenny," Carlotta whispered. "Hang on just a second, it'll be over soon."

Jenna's visions were always a great deal worse than any of the ones Lilah had seen back at Wolfram and Hart. Perhaps this was because Jenna was completely human, and while the visions, being hereditary, would not kill her, they did manage to knock her off her feet nine times out of ten.

The Seer came back with a long, shuddering breath, blinking tears furiously out of her eyes and moving her head slowly back and forth to clear it.

"What did you see?" Ivane asked, standing behind her. It occurred to Nikki that, as far as they knew, those were the first words he had said all day.

"A… a door."

There was silence for several moments, broken, unsurprisingly, by Lilah.

"A door? Did it… what, kill people?"

"No, it… it just opened and closed… on its own. There was no one there."

"Ah. So it's an evil draft."

"Can you be serious?" Carlotta snapped.

"Can you lighten up? It's sarcasm, Slayer," came Lilah's rejoinder.

"Th-there was something else…"

All eyes were immediately back on Jenna.

"Things lifting off tables… three people talking… they thought they heard someone coming but there was no one there… and doors swinging open and shut, with no one there to do it."

"A ghost, maybe?" Kearm suggested.

"Could be," Nikki agreed. "Some kind of spirit."

"One of those wandering ghouls, like the one we heard about upstate."

"That would make sense. Is there a spirit… I don't know, one that gravitates toward doors?"

"Or portals! Like, gateways! A spirit trying to get somewhere."

"Oh, that would make sense too. Nikki, you'll need to-"

"You're wrong." Ivane's low, even voice cut through their conjectures. They turned to look at him in surprise.

"If the being was listening in on people's conversations, it probably wasn't a spirit. They tend to only be able to concentrate on one thing at a time, and often don't have the capacity of reasoning. Logically, the being would appear to be living, whether demon or human, and using some sort of spell to remain invisible."

Carlotta's lips tightened.

"An invisible man then," she said crisply. "Jenna, do we know if this guy's dangerous?" Jenna nodded as she answered.

"He's dangerous, yeah, but I'm not sure to who."

"Whom," Nikki interrupted. Jenna stared at her for a second, then shook herself and continued.

"Whom. Whatever. I could feel power on him, but I don't know who he's directing it at."

"To whom he's directing it." It was Nikki again.

"_Whatever_. All I know is he's been following someone, and this is the city he's been doing it in."

"The city in which he's been-"

"Nikki!"

"Sorry!"

"Do you have anything that could help us find him? And do we know for sure he's male?" Lilah asked.

"I don't know if it's a him, but I think he _has_ been frequenting demon bars and hangouts."

"Gotcha. Okay, here's what we do. Kearm, you go check out known hellholes around Battery Park and make your way up to Chinatown and Soho," Carlotta ordered. "Don't rush it though; make sure you look into every corner. Lilah, take Nikki over to Sirk's place, I think he's got a lot of books on this sort of thing. Then I want you to check out your contacts, see what they know. Jenna and me-"

"Jenna and I."

"Nikki, please. We'll check out the Bowery and the Lower East Side."

"That's a lot of ground left uncovered," said Lilah doubtfully. "None of us will be any farther north than Union Square."

"I can take the Central Park area," Ivane offered. Jenna raised her eyebrows.

"The whole thing?"

"If Kearm can cover all of Chinatown and Soho. Including Battery Park, it's about the same size."

"But he'll be looking into demon bars and things, not knocking on every door. That's impossible."

"Besides which," Carlotta added, her voice growing cold as it always did when speaking to her Watcher. "Central Park is dangerous. You'll get killed, and that won't do us any good."

"I can handle it." Ivane's voice had gone quiet, his face set and unmoving.

"No you can't."

"Yes I can."

Nikki looked up at the two of them, studying their eyes. This was new. The Watcher never argued with the Slayer. Usually he would just go along with her plans. As far as the little girl knew, nothing had gone on between them to change their opinions of each other. What was he playing at?

"Whatever." Carlotta shrugged him off. "It'll be one less mouth to feed."

Lilah and Nikki exchanged glances as they left, wincing as they stepped into the bright sunlight that had followed the previous night's rain.

"Well, thank God we're out of there," Nikki muttered. "I hate it when they do that."

"When Carlotta does that, you mean," Lilah corrected her. "Ivane usually just sits there."

"So you noticed it too, huh?"

"Hey, I'm a lawyer. Recognizing power struggles is a specialty of mine."

Lilah led Nikki across a makeshift bridge that had been erected over the water-filled chasm that was once the subway lines, the city around them exuding an almost tangible air of decadence and decay. Nikki imagined this is what Rome must have looked like as the barbarian hordes pulled away; stripped of culture, light, safety… all that remained was life and its tenuous hold on the street corners where it had withered.

Sirk's home was dug into the side of a subway tunnel, inaccessible at high tide. How exactly the enigmatic Briton had carved this area out, he refused to say. Sixty-three and as dry and prickly as an old cactus, the only one of the group he could stand was Nikki – he had once let slip that she reminded him of his daughter. Lilah waited while Nikki climbed gingerly down the craggy slope to the cleverly-hidden hole. Only when Nikki passed the magical barrier and slipped inside were the protective markings surrounding the area visible for an instant.

The symbols were nothing Lilah recognized for sure, but they did remind her of something, and every time she saw them they tugged at her memory more insistently. One caught her eye in particular this time; it looked like a cross between an Egyptian ankh and the Soviet hammer and sickle.

"Damn," she whispered to herself. _Damn, suddenly I have the feeling this is very important. Think, Lilah, damn you! Damn, damn, damn, where have I seen this before?_

"Nikki!" she called, leaning over and cupping her hands around her mouth.

"Yeah?" Nikki poked her head out of the cave, making the symbols dance and glitter.

"Do you know what those symbols are?"

The little girl looked around bemusedly. One of the markings seemed to be bouncing repeatedly off her hand.

"Sure, they're um… they're a protection thing. Ancient uh… Enochian, I think. Real snazzy set-up. No one can see you, with magic or technology. Pretty well done too." She examined the rock more closely. "Very well done, actually. This is… wow. How come?"

"Nothing." Lilah waved the question aside. "No reason. Get in touch with someone before you come back. We don't want you disappearing on the streets of New York."

"You got it!" Nikki disappeared again, and Lilah turned back.

_Let's see_, she mused. _I think Harry's place is closest to here… or maybe I should go to Maya's first, she's the most likely to know_-

"Damn!" She yelled it out loud again, cutting her own train of thought in half. Enochian! Dammit!

**There will be more, never fear! A flashback and an invisible man for the next chapter, if anyone's interested. PLEASE REVIEW!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary: **A flashback and an invisible man.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, no money, Joss Whedon's, yadda yadda.

**Thank you a million times over for reviewing, and I'm SO SORRY I haven't updated in so long! I'd apologize even more, but you probably want to read the story (if there's anyone left who isn't really mad!).**

Flashback:

_"Hi, there."_

_Lilah looks up._

_"Hello."_

_"You're Lilah, right?"_

_"Your point being?"_

_The young man with the long drawl and ill-fitting suit looks taken aback._

_"W-well I was just saying hello, s-seeing as we'll be working together. I'm your new fellow intern."_

_"Wonderful." Even at eighteen, Lilah has already developed her trademark snake tongue._

_"Um… Hey, I don't wanna bother you-"_

_"Too late," she mutters._

_"-but, why are you working on that? Isn't it our lunch hour?"_

_She glares at him with eyes that are half-full of a teenage girl's disdain, the remainder being taken up by her early-blooming ambition._

_"Listen, Southern Belle," she snaps. "You just stay out of my way. When your internship is over and you get shipped off to Hokeyville community college, I'm going to be first in my class at Harvard. And when you get your start at some small-town law office, I'm going to be working my way up to the top of Wolfram and Hart. _I_ know where the power is, and _you_ know how to be nice to people. In other words, you're worthless. So don't try to snuggle up, 'cause friction'll only slow me down."_

_The boy smiles and suddenly Lilah feels shivers up her spine._

_"I'll keep that in mind, Miss. Morgan." Opening the cheap spiral notebook he is carrying, he sits down next to her and start sketching. The first thing he draws is some kind of symbol; one of those loopy Egyptian crosses superimposed on the half-circle and mallet from the Russian flag. Above it, he has scribbled the heading, "Enochian."_

_"My name's Lindsey, by the way," he adds, without taking his eyes off his drawing. "Lindsey McDonald."_

Enochian! Dammit!

"Okay, Lilah, calm down," she told herself, sucking in huge lungfuls of gritty city air, smoothing her hair down automatically, trying to recover her composure. "Just calm the hell down. The fact that this old guy uses the same symbols Lindsey studied means nothing." Talking to herself was a habit she had picked up while writhing in hellfire. It was the only way she knew to cling to sanity.

"Let's think about this logically," she muttered, hoping none of her contacts caught sight of her as she stormed down the street, whispering to nothing. Part of the reason they told her anything was the air of strength and capability she had long ago learned to exude. That and threats of the Slayer on their backs. But their respect would probably fly out the window if they saw her now. "Similar symbols doesn't necessarily mean same person. And we all know Sirk doesn't side with good or evil; he just lets Nikki learn from him because he likes her. But what if-"

The idea hit her like a ton of bricks. The invisible man! Nikki had said that those markings prevented detection by technology _or_ magic! If these symbols were what the invisible man was using, it would explain Jenna's vision of empty rooms and blank walls. He was _there_, she just couldn't see him.

Lilah debated momentarily on whether or not she should go back and offer Nikki her theory. Eventually she decided against it. In the first place, Nikki was smart; if there was a chance that these symbols were the key, she'd guess it soon enough. She had probably guessed it already. Second, Nikki had most likely known all about those symbols before now, seeing as she had been able to explain them to Lilah. It was best to let her research other possibilities, since there was no guarantee that Lilah's hypothesis was correct. For now, the best thing was to start asking after this invisible man.

Most adults in New York City could well remember the days when they were warned not to go into Central Park at night. Ever since the Hellmouth started bubbling up underneath it, however, it became dangerous to go there at all.

Ivane sidestepped a long, viscous trail of slime as he made his way deeper into the woods that had overgrown the entire southern half of the area (the northern part was mostly volcanic rock and fumes, with a frighteningly beautiful oasis in the center. Ivane was one of the few mortals to ever have reached it and lived). The thick trees that would have looked more at home in medieval Germany or Norway blocked out most of the sunlight, and the scant rays that managed to filter down were watery and ugly.

A pair of eyes watched from a thicket, completely still so as not to alert the strange young man's diamond-sharp senses to their presence. They rested first on the most conspicuous part of him – the acid-green hair that stood in natural spikes from his head. The mind that belonged to those eyes turned that fact over mullingly. Next they fell to his thin, lithe limbs and body. He crept along like a cat, so smoothly that he was almost indistinguishable from the gloom around him. His head turned toward a sound heard some distance away through the trees, and a pair of dark brown eyes nearly lit the branches on fire as he stared at them with a natural intensity made stronger by involuntary solitude.

As the immediate threat of danger passed, Ivane turned back in the direction he had been headed, and the eyes followed diligently, their training just as thorough as Ivane's own. They watched unblinking as Ivane followed a thin, barely-visible trail of blood, smeared on branches and spotted on the forest floor. The green and orange murk that passed for light in the park made everything dim and dreamlike. If he allowed the strange air of these woods to lull him into a false sense of security, Ivane would not be the first to die there.

The trail ended at the mouth of a cave, hollowed into a rock and diving deep into the ground, hidden by trees and possibly a weak concealing spell. Ivane leaned in cautiously and brushed the branches aside.

The eyes jerked back in surprise as Ivane let out a muffled cry. Dropping to his knees, he grasped the shoulders of the torn, mangled body he had discovered at his feet and tried half-heartedly to will it into life. But the little girl was dead, and the unseen watcher was unprepared to see Ivane draw his hands across his eyes as he closed the child's staring eyelids and attempted to make her look less… mauled. Then his face set into steel lines as he drew a long knife from inside his jacket and ducked into the cave.

Inside it was black. Ivane felt his way along the wall, groping blindly through the unnatural darkness. The air was thick, close, and warm, with the gasping smell of fear and rotting death threatening to choke the young man and his unseen stalker.

Five feet. Ten feet. Ten yards. The cave didn't seem to end, and with each step Ivane tensed further. He had been inside for a full five minutes, slipping soundlessly along the damp, sharp rock wall, and still his eyes had not accustomed themselves to the dark. He imagined what Kearm would say if he knew he was doing this. _What? You went into a dark, definitely demonic place on your own, you couldn't even see, you had no idea what you were dealing with… Ivane, buddy, even normal Watchers aren't that stupid. A normal Watcher would need like a battalion of paratroopers behind him going into something like that. You would at least need me. I'm very disappointed. You're not supposed to leave your friends out of the fun._ Ivane smiled tightly. Just like Kearm would never understand Ivane's way of thinking, Ivane would never understand Kearm.

Lilah would probably just stare at him for a while and then walk away, shaking her head and muttering about how the only the idiots get lucky and don't get killed. Nikki would either roll her eyes or hide under a blanket somewhere until Kearm got her out, depending on what kind of shape her mind was in that day. Jenna would tell him he was insane, and Carlotta… Ivane winced. _You're not supposed to think about her when you're in danger. It lowers your concentration_. Carlotta would snort and walk away.

That hurt worst of all. She wouldn't tell him he was stupid, she certainly wouldn't tell him to be more careful. And Lilah would win the Nobel Peace Prize before the Slayer worried about him. She wouldn't even say his name. Not once, in the three months since he had arrived in New York, had Carlotta called him "Ivane." She never even called him "Watcher." It was "you," or "hey," or, more often than not, nothing at all. Their training sessions were considered frequent if they happened three times a week.

_It's not that I don't try_, Ivane thought bitterly as he made his way deeper into the blackness of the cave. _But I do find it hard to work with someone who pretends I don't exist._

The unseen watcher creeping behind him heard it first – a low, gargling growl up ahead. Ivane registered it an instant too late. Within the space of a heartbeat, the creature leapt.

The battle would have been pathetically brief. Ivane was an expert fighter, but the creature had caught him by surprise and flung him against a wall. With his head swimming from the blow, and his stomach overturning from the bloody carcass of another little girl into which he had been pushed, Ivane delayed once more and had no time to get to his feet. He felt the sharp, yellow touch of a claw on the back of his neck, and for a moment the pressure on his spine increased…

BOOM! It echoed wildly throughout the cave, the thousand repetitions hiding the naturally higher pitch of the sound and making it reverberate like a bass drum. The pressure on Ivane's neck disappeared, and the claw dropped to the floor, mimicking the thud that the creature's body had made instants before it. Rolling onto his back, Ivane saw a spark and then a flare of light, as a tall, thin figure struck a match and touched it to the end of a branch lying on the cave floor.

Raising the makeshift torch above its head, the figure turned to look at Ivane. It was a man of about forty – Lilah's age – with cold blue eyes that examined the young Watcher sharply from behind thin, metal-rimmed glasses. The beginning of a brown beard, the same color as his hair, was just visible in the flickering orange light.

"That was very foolish," the man said, offering Ivane his hand to help him up. Ivane stayed where he was.

"You're a Watcher!" he cried. The man looked taken aback.

"What?"

"You're a Watcher!" Ivane repeated, too confused and angry to remember to stand. "I recognize your accent!"

"So do I," said the man, and something about his voice seemed regretful, although his eyes never changed. "You are one too." Ivane's manner became sullenly defiant.

"And what if I am?" he demanded, as the man crouched down to examine him more closely, pocketing the pistol that had killed the monster. "I suppose you're here to ask why the bloody hell the Slayer isn't dead?"

"No."

"Oh." Time to be civil and official, then. Ivane took a moment to compose himself before continuing as politely as he had ever been taught to speak to an older Watcher. "Well, make certain that you report back to the Council that losing an arm has not hindered the Slayer in the least, and that she is as apt and cunning a Slayer as I have ever heard of."

"You're her Watcher?"

"I am."

"Why the hell did they send someone so young? You will have to excuse my questions," the man added. "I have not been a Watcher for some years now."

"Hm." Ivane nodded, accepting the story after a moment's consideration. "They did not expect her to live long. I was… expendable, but I will count on your word not to repeat that."

The ghost of a smile seemed to haunt the man's face.

"Not a word." He got to his feet, and once again offered his hand. "What's your name?"

"Jefferson Ivane, but whatever you do don't call me Jefferson, and don't tell anyone that that's my name." Ivane took it and stood. "Who are you?"

"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

"Every so often," Carlotta announced, "being a Slayer has its perks. I mean, how many careers let you beat up slimeballs for information on an invisible man?"

"Well, the beating up slimeballs part, maybe a cop," Jenna answered as they picked their way through the rubble of the Sunshine Theater on their way to Alphabet City and the Bowery. Rolling clouds made the day steadily darker, and unseen things slithered like mercury just outside their line of vision. "The invisible man? Only thing short of mystical that could get you that particular perk would be a sci-fi writer."

"I never had a way with words."

Jenna was about to come back with a witty comment when a slice of pain hit her right over the eyes and faded into the abandoned storefront in front of them.

"'Lotta," she said sharply. The Slayer heard the urgency in her voice and turned, immediately on alert.

"Back here," was the Seer's only response to Carlotta's look. Motioning for her friend to follow, Jenna ducked into a nearly-hidden alleyway to the right of the building, eyes straining in the gloom.

"I saw this in my vision," she whispered. "The invisible man went down this way, back behind that wall. There was a… a street, I think it had once been part of the next block, but when the two sides of the road were pushed up against each other it was blocked off. There's a place back there… with a burning cross in the window. The door opened… and I guess he went in."

"Is he still there?"

"I don't know. Do you think we should-"

"Quiet."

"What?"

"Sh."

A slow, cold tingle was making its way up Carlotta's spine. Her nerve endings jangled, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Every last survival instinct, those of the Slayer along with those of a hunted animal, were buzzing frantically, like the hiss of florescent lights over a classic concert.

Terror was climbing through her stomach.

"Oh, my God," she whispered. A hundred memories of a hundred haunted nightmares spun through her mind. Fangs and ridges, blood and laughter… and a voice as cold as a vampire's pulse. "Jenna."

"What?"

"There's something wrong. And move. We're standing over a sewer."

Jenna jumped back in alarm, knife in hand, staring at the manhole below her feet, her eyes wide with fear.

"He's down there," Carlotta whispered. "I feel him."

"Who? The invisible man?" They kept their voices low, as though speaking out loud were too dangerous.

"No. _Him_."

"Carlotta, _who_?"

"I-I don't know. I've seen him… I've dreamed… he's… he's here. And, Jenna… he's bad."

Jenna had never seen the Slayer look so frightened.

"'Lotta, calm down-"

"Hello, girls." The voice came from below them, cold and taunting. Jenna gave an involuntary shriek.

"Remember me, Slayer?"

Carlotta was as white as a sheet.

"Who are you?"

"Run, girls. You have thirty seconds."

"Carlotta, what the hell-"

"Run!" Carlotta grabbed her hand and started running, faster than any mortal ever could, but still feeling as though she were in a dream, as though her legs were stuck in molasses. Thirty seconds later, the illusion of the alleyway dissolved, and the sidewalk – all the way up to Jenna and Carlotta's heels – melted away to reveal what had really been there; the yawning gap of the long drop into the sunken subway.

"Carlotta, what was that?" Jenna demanded as they all but sprinted home; it wasn't much safer than anywhere else, but the idea of walls suddenly seemed very secure. "What just happened?"

"I don't know!" Carlotta panted. "I've never seen an illusion that good before! I mean, it actually held us up! Whoever this is has some serious magical firepower at their disposal!" The two girls slowed to a walk.

"Whoever this is? You don't know him?"

"No, I just… I know that voice."

"From where?"

"From my dreams." Jenna caught her friend's arm and spun her around.

"Slayer dreams?"

"Yeah." They kept walking. "We dream about past Slayers… and sometimes about who killed them. This guy… he's killed us before. And it's the voice I recognize. Like he's making fun of you all the time."

"So, _is_ he the invisible man?"

"He might be. I mean, we know he can conjure up massive mystic energy to be able to cast an illusion like that. It could be him or an ally of his. But I know I've heard that voice before."

Kearm slammed the door in disgust. Another empty house. He was halfway to Chinatown, and no one had heard a word about an invisible man since the previous Easter (Kearm hadn't been around for that one. He'd have to ask Carlotta about it.). There had been reports of strange break-ins, however. Magical shops were among the few businesses that had thrived since the opening of the Hellmouth, and several of them had found items missing, despite the fact that no robbers had been detected by magical or electronic means. That might bear looking into.

Three streets later, the signs on the crumbling buildings began to show signs of once having been Chinese characters. There were more people about now – not many, but a few, human and otherwise. Some glanced at Kearm suspiciously; others peered at him as though deciding whether or not he was easy prey. None of those seemed to think he was.

The smell hit his nose suddenly, as he idled past a crumbling restaurant, flecks of paint still clinging to the shredded banner. It stopped him short, as efficiently as a blow to the stomach. The Likhaih demon felt his blood run cold, his knees weakening for an instant, and his wickedly curved, rune-encrusted knife leapt to his hand. It had been nearly two years since that smell had last assailed his senses, but automatically his muscles tensed, sliding over each other as he crouched into the traditional attack position, teeth baring out of habit and eyes and ears on the alert out of instinct.

No one came. No challenger, no crowds, no master screaming orders and obscenities. _Of course not, Kearm,_ his mind told him._ You're years and miles and lifetimes away from that place. This is New York City. You fight when you want, to protect your own life, not at the orders of your master. That's all gone._ But still the knife glinted, and a growl formed in the back of his throat.

He knew that scent. He knew to the hour how long it had been since he last smelled it. Burnt, ashy, oily, like the smell of burning flesh, one knew instinctively that there was something _wrong_ with it. It was the _harshness_ of it, the sense that there was something in the air that was _not right_. Two years, since Ivane had released him from the arena, the gladiatorial Hell where that smell and others, sometimes worse, were eternally pervasive. He owed more to the Watcher than he could ever articulate.

But where was it coming from? There was something lacking in it, now that he concentrated more, a bitterness that remained wanting. It was not live flesh that burned, but something dead. Not long dead, perhaps, but dead nonetheless. So it did not come from Kearm's homeland. In fact… his eyes narrowed. It came from within the restaurant.

He found the source at last, behind a closed door within. He could smell other things up here as well, none pleasant, but some particularly telling. There had been a mystical seal on the door up to about five minutes ago, when it had mysteriously dissolved. Now he sensed it building again, as though whoever had cast it had needed to take his energy away for the moment, to concentrate on an even more complex spell, and was only now returning to secure it. But it was still weak. Weak enough for…

CRASH!

The door broke easily – Kearm's bones were heavier than those of your average human. A man leapt to his feet, shirt half-open, a smoldering pile of spell components scattering around the room. His hand flew to the first object he could lay hands on – a broken, jagged piece of wood that lay on the floor, once a roof-support. He hesitated, then froze, however, in mid swing, as Kearm merely stood in the doorway, coolly examining the room.

"A little shabby," he remarked, adding amicably, "but then again, what isn't, in this town? I have to say, you've really used every part of this room to your advantage, so far as I can tell."

The man stared, completely thrown by the Likhaih's friendliness. The British accent might have added to the confusion as well; one does not normally expect a blue-skinned demon with the comb of a rooster, the eyes of a snake, and the hands of a man to sound like a Cockney cab-driver. Kearm used this delay to study the man carefully. Longish, disheveled brown hair, eyes that measured the demon carefully… actually, the eyes reminded Kearm of Lilah. They had the same habit of measuring people, putting off trust until they knew with whom they dealt. The man was stocky, and not tall, and _my_, Kearm thought. _This is unusual. What the bloody hell is with those tattoos?_

"Anyway," he continued, seeing that the man was about to speak. "I'm Kearm. Who're you, and why're you burning dead Kith'harn tusks?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" the man finally asked. His voice was odd; not deep, but raspy.

"You know," Kearm went on conversationally, "a friend of mine had a vision about an invisible man, and, well, I think it's interesting that you seem to be using items stolen from magical shops to reinforce spells that, I know from personal experience, hide you from magical surveillance. You want to explain that one to me?"

"I want to kill you so you won't tell anyone about me," the gravelly, energy-charged voice responded.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on there, mate!" Kearm put his palms up in front of him and laughed. "I'm not the only one after you. And if I don't go back, the Slayer's gonna wonder why, and I don't think she'll be all that nice when she finds out you killed one of her friends. So… who are you, why are you using those markings, and what are you doing in the City That Always Stinks?"

The man eyed him warily.

"Tell me one thing, first."

"Pleased to oblige."

"How did you recognize these symbols?"

Kearm smiled bitterly.

"You ever heard of the Realm of Gar-Gabelle?"

"Market-place, gladiator arena, slave trade? Hottest spot for evil in the British Isles and much of the Continent? Yes."

"How do you think they kept it from being discovered by non-magic people? And how do you think they kept us slaves away from the prying eyes of do-gooders trying to abolish the arena and the slave trade? I've known the smell of mixing those markings since before I was born. Mind you, they didn't use that alphabet on us. That looks too Asian, and therefore, higher quality and more difficult. They never bothered protecting us slaves with more than a handful of home-grown Gabellian runes. Now who are you?"

The man hesitated again.

"You said you know the Slayer?"

"Like I know me own hand."

"I need to speak to her."

"Tell me."

"No. I won't hurt her. I'm trying to warn her."

"No."

"I'm not going to tell you. Only the Slayer."

"Too bad."

"Take me to her then."

"Only if you don't bring weapons."

"How am I supposed to know if you really know her or not? I'm not going defenseless."

"Then you're not going."

"You're a Likhaih, right? Give me your word that nothing will happen to me, and I'll go with you – weaponless – to warn the Slayer."

"Done."

They shook hands, and Kearm watched as the man buttoned up his shirt and pulled on his coat, carefully verifying that there were no weapons concealed anywhere. The friends of the famous Sunnydale Slayer had been renowned for their loyalty. The companions of the current one were becoming notorious for theirs.

"So, Likhaih," said the man in his harsh, but not unkind voice as they stepped out onto the street. "What's your name?"

"Kearm. You, tattoo-man?"

"Lindsey. Lindsey McDonald."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary: **Unexpected meetings, a dangerous plan, and some explanations.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, no money, Joss Whedon's, yadda yadda.

**Yes, I know, everybody hates me for not updating. I'm just gonna shut up and write, so PLEASE accept my heartfelt apologies and read on.**

Ivane looked at the slim, brown-haired man skeptically as he led him back through the overgrown green and rust of the woods to the city proper.

"Pryce," he said curtly, turning to face him as they left the park behind and made their way down a depressingly bleak 5th Avenue. "How do I know that I can trust you? I've heard of you, certainly, but nothing confirmable since the news that you turned traitor, and that hardly softens me in your favor."

Wesley stopped short, his face suddenly white.

"Since the news that I turned _what_?" He sounded as though he had been stabbed, and was more than ready to lash out a counterattack. Ivane allowed himself a small snort, but his fierce nature denied him the luxury of doubt. This man had more potential for being an enemy than a friend.

"Traitor." When Ivane spoke, an unusual occurrence in and of itself, his voice had the capacity for an immense range of emotion, a capacity, which, though rarely utilized, he demonstrated now to its full potential. His sharp, contempt-ridden words would have cut into diamonds, never mind into the heart of a man who had not experienced the disparagement involved in conversing with a fellow Watcher for several years. Wesley's eyes flashed.

"I would be fascinated to hear the reasoning behind that statement." The cold in his voice would have done an iceberg proud.

"Three words. The Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart. That should be enough."

Wesley's voice became soft and dangerous.

"You have been appallingly misinformed. And I believe I can guess by whom."

Ivane took one look at the fury of betrayal in the ex-Watcher's eyes and did something almost unheard-of for him; he let out a short, bitter laugh. Wesley started in surprise.

"I highly doubt that." Another short laugh escaped, and then another. "Ha! You think it's the Council spreading that idea." Wesley nodded slowly, eyeing Ivane as though doubting his sanity. "You think that _they're_ the ones spreading the 'Angel was a traitor' theory."

"Yes, aren't they-"

"No. A dead person working from the inside out told me. It is commonly-known fact, Pryce."

"We did not betray-" Wesley's response was furious, but Ivane's was harsher still.

"Wrong! You _did_ betray! You betrayed everything! From the lowest, least worthy person that you ever saved to the Powers that Be themselves, you broke the oath that people like us take the first time we do a good deed, the first time we stand up to say that something is wrong, the oath we must keep to until oblivion claim our bodies or our minds! The moment a Slayer is born, the moment a Watcher family is established, the moment Angelus felt remorse and William the Bloody felt pity, they were bound to fighting evil until either they or their honor gave out. When was the first time you knew?" He paused for an instant, watching Wesley's face. Then his voice bit scornfully. "And when did you decide to betray?"

The door to the decrepit set of rooms opened, revealing an astonishingly bright green head of hair and a pair raised eyebrows.

"Nice of you to join us, Jeffy," said Kearm brightly, using the nickname he knew Ivane hated. "Got someone to introduce to you; Ivane, Lindsey McDonald, Linds, Ivane."

"Now his name is Linds?" Jenna sounded amused.

"The former Wolfram and Harter?" asked Ivane, unblinking as he slid into his usual haunt near the back of the group.

"The same," said Lilah. Her eyes had not left Lindsey yet either, indicating that she had yet to decide just what she thought of this. Trust was the farthest thing from anyone's mind. "You were saying?"

"I was saying that, as weird as it is to be playing Doyle for real now, there's a guy who's powerful, dangerous, and in town, and the Slayer should know because I'm sure as hell not going to go up against him alone, although whether or not you'll let me help you at all is clearly debatable."

Carlotta examined him closely.

"And can the Slayer know this guy's name?"

Lindsey looked her up and down.

"You're her?"

"The one and only. Well, if you don't count the one in Sri Lanka."

"Sirk."

"Eh?" Carlotta had clearly not followed the transition. In fact, the only one who had was Nikki.

"Sirk?" she repeated, sliding down from her perch on the unsteady wooden table. "Old British guy, lives in the wall of a sunken subway?"

"You know him?" Lindsey seemed surprised.

"He gave me a lollipop. Who versed him in Enochian?"

Now Lindsey was confused as well as shocked.

"In Enoch… how much of what I'm telling you is actually news?"

"It's all news to me," said Lilah dryly. "Mind giving us an update, Nikki?"

"Okay," she sighed, as though annoyed by the low I.Q.s surrounding her. It was an odd thing to see, coming from an undergrown, skinny girl of twelve. "You're telling us Sirk is up to something bad. I'm telling you that I totally believe it because he keeps me away from certain books on necromancy. I'm also telling you that he's really, really good at Enochian, and since I'm telling everybody else that those freshly-reinforced marks on your arm are also really good Enochian, I'm putting two and two together and coming up with the theory that you are hiding from the Wolfram and Hart Senior Partners, the Enochian is only there just in case because it would really be a waste of time for them to bother catching you now seeing as they're simply not interested, and you used to work with Sirk at some point, and he picked up his Enochian skills from you, AND now you're worried that he's going to do something big and scary and that it'll be partially your fault.

"The only blanks left to fill in," she concluded, suavely ignoring the amazement on Lindsey's face, "are 'What is Sirk doing?' 'Is he doing it alone?' 'How do we stop him?' and 'Why aren't you dead?'"

Absolute silence reigned for several seconds, broken at last by Kearm applauding.

"Couldn't have said it better myself," he announced. "Actually, I couldn't have said it. Bloody brilliant, Nikki." The little girl beamed.

"Okay…" Lindsey began. Lilah couldn't help but grin at the surprise on his face. Out of habit, she chalked up a point in her favor on the mental scoreboard where she had long ago recorded the constant rivalry between Lindsey and herself. She was surprised to find that it was still there, and that the memory of their wins and losses was as fresh as ever.

"Okay…" Lindsey began again, getting over his bemusement. "I'm not sure exactly what Sirk is doing, I had assumed that he was more or less working on his own, although I can't say for sure, I was counting on the Slayer to have some idea how to stop him since, like I said, I'm not doing it alone, and the reason why I'm not dead is a really long story."

Lilah mockingly checked her watch.

"We've got time."

Lindsey looked around. It was so strange. How had he gone from Wolfram and Hart to playing the role of suspect messenger for the local heroes? There was the Slayer, practically holding court in this small, shabby, unadorned room, although she'd never admit it. The Slayer in front, Lilah by her side, the smart girl now climbing on the demon's shoulders, the other girl sitting cross-legged in the only chair, and the green-haired guy watching everything with the eyes of a hawk. Lindsey felt like he was being put on trial. He began.

"Lilah can probably tell you that I'm supposed to be dead – by the way I'm demanding an explanation for why the hell _you're_ around the second I finish. I was dead, under the loving care of the Senior Partners. Again, Lilah should be able to describe that to you pretty clearly." He smirked, and she automatically smirked back. Carlotta rolled her eyes. "Years ago I hired Sirk to help me take out Angel, among other things. He looked enough like a withered old Watcher to be able to feed them a made-up story about eternal torment and the like. The plan was to have Angel and Spike kill each other. Obviously, it failed, and Sirk ran off. Apparently, though, Sirk had a daughter-"

"He did," Nikki offered. "Emily. I remind him of her. That's why I got the lollipop."

Lindsey blinked a few times, then continued, a little rattled.

"Right. Emily. But she died in the apocalypse, and now he's determined to get her back."

"Bringing back the dead?" asked Kearm skeptically. "That never ends well."

"Agreed. Sirk knew it was risky, so he decided on a test run first."

"You." It was Lilah who spoke this time. "He brought you back to see if he could do it."

"Almost. It wasn't Sirk who actually cast the spell – he's good, but he isn't that good." Lindsey paused. "Have you guys all heard of Willow Rosenberg?"

General nods. But…

"She's dead," Jenna pointed out. "What does she have to do with it?"

"Willow was one of the few people strong enough to bring people back from the dead. At first, she had no idea of the extent of her own powers, but-"

"Like when she brought back the Sunnydale Slayer," Carlotta realized.

"Right. Once she did, she swore never to do it again. So there should be no problem, except now she's dead and there's no one to explain to her apprentice just how dangerous this is."

"She had an apprentice?"

"For the last few years. Sirk had the apprentice bring me back, but, like Willow, the apprentice realized how dangerous it was and refused to do it again. So now, whatever plan Sirk has, it's going to involve either gaining power, or gaining a powerful friend. This guy is dangerous and slightly insane when it comes to his daughter."

The group digested this information for several moments. Then Carlotta spoke.

"It's a friend. He's going to get himself a powerful friend." She looked up. "Me and Jenna met somebody while we were… patrolling." It was best not to mention the invisible man just yet. They still didn't know if Lindsey was trustworthy. "We couldn't see him, but I recognized the voice. Whoever it was had some serious magic at their disposal, but it wasn't Sirk talking. He almost killed us."

"How do you know that Sirk's even involved with this, then?" Lilah asked.

"There was a fantastic illusion spell that was cast directly over an area of sunken subway," Jenna explained pointedly.

"That's our guy," said Kearm brightly. "You said you recognized the voice. Who was it?"

Carlotta shuddered involuntarily, and there was silence for a moment. The Slayer was afraid. Carlotta, who could face anything, was afraid.

"I don't know," she said at last. "I don't think I've ever heard it in real life. Only in dreams. He's killed us. And thousands of others."

"He's killed us… Nora?" Jenna gasped.

"N-no, I meant… Slayers. He's killed two Slayers. I know his voice."

"Two Slayers…" Ivane's voice surprised them all. "William the Bloody-"

"Spike is dead," Lindsey interrupted half-scornfully.

"So were you," came Ivane's quiet rejoinder. "And I know it wasn't him. I also met somebody while patrolling. A former Watcher, famous traitor." Lilah felt a sudden sick feeling in her stomach. "Wyndam-Pryce. He said-"

"Are you sure it was him?" The shock in Lilah's voice stopped them all short. "Are you sure it was him, 'cause I for one am getting really sick of all these dead people popping up. What did he look like?"

"H-he…" Ivane seemed taken aback. "Tall, brown hair, blue eyes… half-grown beard…"

"That's too general. It could have been anybody."

"Scar across his throat. He carried a gun as well. I don't think I've ever seen someone fight demons with a gun before."

Lilah sat down, somewhere between tears and anger.

"It's him."

"He gave me a name before he left. One that fits into this quite well." Even the Slayer had to stop and look at him when he spoke the name that still froze the very marrow in people's bones. "Angelus."

"Angelus," said Kearm at last, breaking the silence. "Damn." No one spoke for several moments more.

"Do we know what he wants?" Jenna finally asked.

"Fun," Ivane responded simply. "Pryce left in a rather understandable huff, but not until he'd told me that he had been watching Angelus for some time. The Scourge of Europe wants to become the Scourge of the New World. Pryce told me that Angelus was working with a powerful wizard. Now we know who."

Lindsey was about to launch into a string of conjectures, but Lilah stopped him short. She knew Ivane well enough to realize that you had to get everything you could out of him forcibly. He was far too reticent to volunteer any information, no matter how important.

"What else did he say?" she demanded.

"That Angelus is as brilliant as ever, and that he sees the Slayer and her friends as the greatest threat to his impending reign. He will try to pick off the opposition one by one, thus dividing their strength."

Lilah looked thoughtful.

"Jenna, where exactly did you and 'Lotta meet Angelus?"

"Um… along Avenue A, right over the subway line."

"All right. Here's a theory," she announced. "By all appearances, they're using the subway as either a base or a getaway. I say we send some reconnaissance to see how many people they have, and as soon as we have a better idea of what we're dealing with, we attack."

"Agreed," said Carlotta curtly. "We need to catch them by surprise. Kearm, get a weapon, you and I are that reconna-thingy. Hold it!" She grabbed Lindsey by the back of his shirt.

"I wasn't going anywhere!" he protested.

"Damn right. You're leading the way."

"You're trusting me enough for that?"

"No, I just figure that if you _are_ lying you won't send us into danger with yourself as the front guard. Lead on. And take a weapon."

**Coming soon (hopefully): A mistake, a hostage, and an attack.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary: **A mistake, a hostage, and an attack

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, no money, Joss Whedon's, yadda yadda.

It was nearly midnight, but nobody slept. Lilah paced by the door, frowning furiously, turning the day's events over and over in her mind. Wesley! It couldn't be. How? Her thoughts chased themselves in circles.

Jenna sat by the table, staring into space. Her eyes were blank but her mind worked furiously, searching for a weakness, a flaw, in Angelus and Sirk's plan.

Nothing. Whatever strange entities sent her messages through her visions were silent tonight. She sighed, upset with herself. _Why can't I be more useful?_ She looked around. Nikki was sitting immobile too, eyes closed, her eyelids flickering as she scanned her memory for anything that would help them fight Angelus. Not that you would know, from looking at her, but Jenna could tell.

She sighed again, her gaze lighting on Ivane, silent and… well, pretty much just silent. He was polishing a knife, one of the two he always carried. _Hm. That's interesting_. The carvings in the steel were similar, but not quite the same, to those on Kearm's knife. _I wonder what the story behind _that_ is_. Glancing around, Jenna let her mind fall, spiraling down until she could control where it went, directing it stealthily towards the Watcher.

She sometimes wondered what the others would think if they knew she could do this. She would tell them, of course, except… well, what would they think if they found out she could read minds? Sure, she couldn't do it well, or even often, but still. Explaining to someone that you can only read their mind _sometimes_ does not make them any less afraid of you, she knew for a fact. _I'll tell them_, she had long ago determined, _but not now. Later. When I've had more practice._

Ivane never saw it coming. Slowly, she slipped into his thoughts. Damn, but they were restrained! He didn't even _think_ loudly! _The knife, the knife_, she ordered her mind.

FLASH! Cold. Alone. Outside. Stars.

FLASH! Bright. Warm. Dust. Foreign.

FLASH! An arena, filled with people, blood used instead of water to keep the dust down. Fear, anger, injustice…

FLASH! Take the knives! This is WRONG! You won't hurt them!

FLA-

Jenna pulled out with a gasp. Suddenly the silence of the room seemed very, very loud.

"Jenna?" Lilah asked, concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah, yeah…" she stammered. "Yeah, I just… I just had a dream."

"Are you sure? You-"

"Ah!" The vision hit her as footsteps suddenly pounded up the stairs. "Carlotta!"

"Carlotta!" The door flew open and Kearm and Lindsey rushed in, ashen-faced.

"What the-"

"She's gone! They were coming after us-"

"Who?"

"Now! There wasn't-"

"QUIET!" Kearm bellowed, using his unusually-sized lungs to his distinct advantage. They all fell silent.

"One at a time," he fumed. "Lilah; Carlotta's gone."

Jenna paled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the knife Ivane had been polishing drop from his nerveless fingers.

"Gone?" Lilah all but had Kearm by the throat. "What do you mean, gone?"

"It's not his fault, Lilah." Lindsey stepped between them. "We had to split up. She said to meet by the old theater at eleven, then never came."

"It's after twelve now!" Nikki cried. "How could you leave her there?"

"She told us to!" Kearm answered, clearly furious with himself. "Believe me, I couldn't feel any worse about this, but she said before we left each other that anyone who didn't show by eleven thirty had to stay behind. She said we couldn't risk being split up any further!"

"She was right," said Lilah quietly. "Separating us is Angelus's plan."

"So we're just gonna leave her?" cried Jenna, leaping up from her seat.

"We can't risk being split up."

Lindsey looked at Lilah with grudging admiration. All of the others would eventually have come to the same conclusion, but she was doing the hard part and giving them someone to blame. _When did you develop a heart, Lilah?_

"Lilah's right," Lindsey announced. "We don't have any other choice. We just have to let her go and attack once we're back to full strength."

A low, menacing voice made them start.

"Full strength?" Ivane took a step forward, thrusting his knife into its scabbard. His eyes would have melted glaciers and frozen the Hellmouth. "Carlotta _is_ this group's full strength. You cannot abandon her."

"Ivane, I hate this as much as you do, but-"

"NO! You can NOT abandon her!"

"Ivane…"

He stared at them for a moment, unable to speak. Lilah… how he hated her. She was doing the right thing… but how could the right thing be so _wrong_? Jenna was looking at him terrified. What had she seen? What had that inquisitive, over-bright mind of hers seen? Nikki, frightened but sure… how could a little girl be so callous? How could she stop caring? Why couldn't he? And Kearm… how could you betray me thus? At that moment he hated them all. They were closest he had ever had to friends, and he hated them. He even hated Lindsey – not for anything he had done, for he hadn't even known Carlotta. No, Ivane hated Lindsey because he had spent all of two hours with these people and suddenly he was being accepted. Why? What had Lindsey ever done? With an inarticulate cry, Ivane spun on his heel into the other room, the door closing behind him so forcefully that dust filtered down from the ceiling.

Lilah sunk into the chair.

"Damn," she muttered. "Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn."

"Lilah?" Nikki asked in a very small voice. "Are we abandoning 'Lotta?"

"She said to do it," Lilah replied heavily. _Damn_. "And she was right. We can't risk getting split up even more. Besides which, knowing Angelus-"

"Oh no."

Lilah's head snapped up.

"Oh no?" she demanded of Jenna. "Oh no? What 'oh no'?"

"Ivane." Jenna's eyes were huge. "Their plan is working. Ivane just left."

Carlotta opened her eyes. _Where am I_?

She sat up slowly, cradling her head. _Oww_…

The room she was in could have come straight from a Gothic horror movie. She knew she was under the subway, so it must have been something innocuous at some point, but a twisted mind had transformed it into a dungeon of the first order, complete with chains hanging from the stony ceiling and walls that had to be six feet thick. Someone had designed this dungeon for a Slayer.

Now, why was she here? Carlotta fingered the bruise on her right temple and winced. Oh. Right. This was the second time she had been knocked out in here.

The first time she'd woken up, she'd made such a racket that the set of vampires acting as her jailers had been forced to hit her over the head… again. She stood carefully, her head still throbbing. How long had she been here? She checked her watch. One o'clock in the morning. Two hours. She just prayed Kearm and Lindsey had gotten out and would stay that way. They couldn't risk being separated. This was no time for desperate rescues.

The Slayer circled the cell, closely examining its every detail. It had indeed been made to hold a Slayer, as she had supposed, but it was also just as clearly intended for more than one person. It was at least eight paces by eight, and, while her knowledge of dungeons and the like was limited, back in her homeless days she had spent the nights in far smaller places than this. The walls were stone and metal, the door about half a foot off the ground so as to give the prisoner an additional disadvantage. The only stroke of luck that Carlotta could see was that she wasn't chained or tied up. They probably didn't want to risk coming that close to her.

She shivered, and paced faster. She was the Slayer. She was afraid of nothing. She was afraid of nothing! But the thought that Angelus knew she was there, that he could come for her at any moment or leave her there as long as he wished made her hand tremble. She hugged herself with her one arm, forcing herself to slow her breathing. _When he comes_, she swore silently, _I will not give that murderer the pleasure of seeing my fear. He will remember me to the end of his existence and beyond, but he will remember courage and the strength of a Slayer, not the terrified tears of a child!_

This thought held her bravery for a moment, and then it collapsed like a punctured balloon and she crumpled to the floor, sobbing.

"Help," she whispered to the darkness. "Help me." But the shadows just stared back. She put her head down on her bent knees and cried harder. "Nora! Help me!" _It isn't fair. I'm only sixteen._ "Nora, please! Help me! Nora, I know you can hear me! Help me! Please!" Silence echoed back. "It's not the dying, Nora! I can handle that, it's… Nora, it's _him_! It's Angelus! Nora, I've been hearing stories about him since I was ten, I'm just…" Her voice faded out. "I'm just so scared."

For a time all she could think was _thank God I'm alone_. She didn't think she could have stood it if anyone saw her crying like this, if anyone saw that she was afraid. Time passed, several hours at the least, and her tears faded, giving way to complete emptiness. As the guard outside her cell changed, announcing to one another that it was three o'clock, it came to her.

_Nora's dead, Carlotta. No one's coming to save you._

At that moment, the door swung open and Ivane was flung inside.

**Coming soon: A confrontation, a confession, and a bluff.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary: **A confrontation, a confession, and a bluff.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, no money, Joss Whedon's, yadda yadda.

Carlotta couldn't believe her eyes. The door slammed shut and keys turned gratingly, but all the Slayer could do was stare in astonishment at the thin young man suddenly sprawled at her feet. She was speechless.

Ivane raised his head slowly. The first thing his wearily-opening eyes met was a pair of scuffed sneakers; looking up, his gaze locked with Carlotta's and immediately he was stiff and wary. Springing to his feet, he took a moment to make certain that he could still breathe through his bruised ribs before speaking.

"Are you hurt?" As usual, the extreme reserve in his voice made it awkward and grating.

"No," replied Carlotta, her surprise melting as usual to irritation at the curt, unfeeling way in which he spoke to her. "Although I'm kinda pissed. What the hell are you doing here? I specifically told Kearm that _no one_ was to come after me." Her eyes were narrow and critical; being around Ivane always made her feel like she had standards to meet, and people who seemed to judge her made her nervous and unreasonable. Besides which, he hadn't listened to her! "Just how hard was that to understand?"

Ivane's eyes could have been glass.

"I thought it best to come here," he said stiffly.

"You thought it best?" Carlotta cried, suddenly raising her voice. She did not see him fight the urge to flinch. "When did anyone decide that you were in charge? We need to be following a _plan_ if we're going to do this, and I don't remember Lilah telling us to _help_ Angelus by splitting up! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I did what I thought was best," Ivane repeated awkwardly. He had never been good at speaking to people, and Carlotta's fiery temper threw him off guard.

"What you thought was-" The Slayer's own anger cut her off. _Why won't you react to me like I'm a person? Is it really that hard to show some emotion, dammit, if only so I'll know where you stand? What the hell is wrong with you?_ She let out an enraged shriek and punched the wall, sending a sound like a shattering gong reverberating through the room. "You idiot! Do you realize the amount of danger you've put us all in? I mean, could you _be_ any more stupid? Strength in _numbers_, you _moron_, did they teach you _that_ at the Academy?"

Ivane didn't respond; he merely stood there, watching her mutely. The silence stretched horribly, the echoes of Carlotta's rage receding into the subway tunnels. With a jolt like an electrical shock, Carlotta's own words hit her. Oh my God. I couldn't have… what did I just say? She looked at him once more.

His face was blank. Carefully so. Oh God, what a horrible thing to say. The muscles in his jaw were too tight, his lips pressed too thinly. Oh, damn. Oh, damn, what did I just say?

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but he caught her eyes with his and she fell silent. There it was. That fire in his gaze. He was furious. And hurt. But far more proud than anything else. _Don't you dare apologize, Slayer_, she could all but hear him say. _You said it and you meant it. Don't try to deny it_. He wasn't going to let her take it back. His eyes were like stone.

"I-I…" She had no idea what to say. "What are you doing here?" she asked at last, almost tiredly.

"I… I suppose I came to rescue you," he responded. As unemotional as ever, but… was that a blush? Was he embarrassed? Well, she could see why. If this was a rescue, she'd hate to see what a failure would be.

Just the fact that he was speaking to her so emotionlessly brought her anger boiling near to the surface again. _Keep it in, keep it in…_

"Uh huh… Good job."

"I-I did have a plan, Slayer, but…" He looked around. "It would seem it was inadequate."

Carlotta took one breath to try to gain control of her temper, and then exploded.

"Dammit!" she cried, and this time he did flinch. "Dammit, why do you do that!"

"Do what?"

"_That!_ Act like a robot, talk like you're not actually speaking to a person, be all stoic and serious! I-It drives me crazy! I _am_ a person, here! I can understand complete sentences!"

"I am sorry, Slayer," Ivane began.

"And another thing! More important, actually!" Carlotta interrupted. "I have a name, you know! It's Carlotta! Would it kill you to use it!"

Whatever response she had expected, it was not this. Ivane's eyes snapped up to meet hers, once again smoldering with that barely-controlled, violent fire. His hands trembled with his effort to keep his outrage contained.

"How dare you?" His voice was as soft and dangerous as Angelus's, as loaded as a gun. "How _dare_ you speak to me about using your name?" His fists clenched passionately. "Are you aware, _Slayer_, that in the three months that I have been here, you have never _once_ used my name? Never _once_!" Suddenly there was feeling in his voice, hurt and resentful, suddenly his frozen façade had melted and his arms gestured angrily, his eyes flashing, no longer the silent, quietly unhappy outsider that Carlotta had come to recognize. She took an involuntary step back. "I can understand your refusal to call me 'Watcher,' Slayer, that much is only natural, but after three months of treating me as less than human, don't you think you could bring yourself to use my name! I know I'm not Nora!" he shouted. "But who the hell said I wanted to be!"

That last sentence proved too much. Carlotta turned white, and with one movement drew back her hand and slapped him viciously across the face. Ivane half-staggered back and barely kept his balance.

"Don't you _ever_ say that name in front of me!" Ivane stared at her, between shock and fury. "Don't you _ever_ talk about her!" Carlotta's voice was rising. "Don't you _dare_ talk about Nora! Don't you-"

"Why not!" Ivane yelled back. "Do you think I don't care? Do you think I wouldn't mourn a fellow-Watcher's passing? Or maybe you just think I'm too stupid-"

"Shut up!" Carlotta screamed, hands over her ears. "Just shut up, shut up! What do you know? You don't know anything!"

"Of course I don't know anything! Because no one ever tells me!"

"Don't try to turn this around, you arrogant, soul-less bastard! Do you even have a heart?"

At this, Ivane, who was about to respond with yet another shouted accusation, suddenly went still and drew back. Carlotta paused, tears swimming in her eyes. Turning away, the thin young man slumped against the rough stone wall and slid to the ground, keeping his eyes firmly on the rock-and-metal floor.

"I have a heart," he said softly, so quietly that the Slayer could barely hear him. "God knows, sometimes I wish I didn't, but I have a heart." His head turned toward her, enough to acknowledge her but not for her to see his face. "I'm sorry," he announced ever-so-quietly. "I shouldn't have said those things… Carlotta."

Carlotta was stunned motionless by this. An apology… after what she'd said? And then he used her name? Shaken into feeling ashamed, she knelt beside him, and, surprised, he let their eyes meet.

"Oh my God…" At this whisper from Carlotta, Ivane turned his head away. He hadn't wanted her to see him crying. _Damn you, Ivane, can't you act like a man for five minutes, she's right, you are an incurable fool,_ another burning trail traced down his face, though he looked away and hid it, _they're never going to accept you, why don't you just stop trying and save yourself the trouble,_ Carlotta remained immobile beside him, _Oh, God, what she must think, you weakling…_

Carlotta put her hand on his shoulder.

"No," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry…" He still wouldn't look at her. It was either a snub or he was trying to stop crying. "I-I… I didn't realize what a bitch I was being, I … I can't believe I said those things. It's just, Nora… it's a sore spot for the rest of us. We tend to get…"

"Defensive?" She couldn't believe it, but he was almost smiling at her through his tears.

"I-I was gonna say evil." Carlotta had never wished more fervently that she could disappear into the floor. _I am such a horrible person_. "She meant a lot to me." _Oh, yeah, that explains _every_thing, that'll _to_tally make up for what you did. Carlotta: you're a bitch._

"It's all right." The emotion was slowly leaching out of his voice, leaving it soft and tired. "Grief is often violent. You don't mean what you do." Carlotta was wearily surprised.

"Thank you." There was silence for a moment. "How come that didn't sound like a cliché?"

"I don't know. I suppose I'm speaking from experience."

There was silence for several long minutes while they both tried to recover the shreds of their dignity. At last, when they were no longer hoarse and successfully tearless, Carlotta spoke.

"I didn't realize that I wasn't using your name."

"It's all right."

More silence.

"C-Carlotta?"

She almost smiled. It was so hard for him to start a dialogue.

"Yeah?"

"I'm not trying to replace her."

She hadn't expected this.

"What?"

He looked uncomfortable. "The Council sent me because they thought you would die. They needed someone for the final days, so they sent the one they thought least suited to a prolonged assignment as a Watcher. I was never meant to replace her."

Silence again.

"I see."

Ivane's voice was painfully quiet.

"I'm sorry."

The Slayer made a sound like a sob and hugged her knees to her chin. Ivane looked horrified.

"Oh… no, now… I-I've made you cry…"

"No, no, it's okay." Carlotta waved her hand to brush his concern away. "It's just… nothing."

Neither spoke for some time. But eventually, someone had to speak, if only so that they wouldn't have to think about their extremely likely impending deaths.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Wesley moved quickly, as silently as he was able. Even for someone like him, the streets were not safe after dark. Coming to an intersection, he glanced at the toppled, rusted street sign. Thus far, he seemed to be heading in the right direction. At the intersection… turn right, had Ivane said? Yes, right.

He couldn't help smiling. That boy was something else. Less than an hour after calling him a traitor, and he appears on his doorstep, asking for his help. Wesley would have slammed the door in his face, despite Ivane's apologies and glaringly blatant embarrassment – he did still have a sense of pride, after all – but when he mentioned the Slayer, Wesley found himself unable to refuse.

_"So she's a stubborn one, then?"_ he had said. _"Ready to go down with the ship?"_

_"Please. I haven't any choice. The others are willing to obey her, but…"_ He had looked almost ashamed, dropping his gaze to the floor. _"I can't let her die."_

_"It's what you agreed to, isn't it? And she's right; you can't risk being further separated. You won't have a chance that way."_

_"We won't have a chance without her! We can't fight Angelus alone. And it was the others who agreed to abandoning her."_ His voice went cold. _"I did not."_ Wesley had said nothing. _"Please!"_ Ivane was nearly begging. _"I am not going to let her die! I know you have your reasons to hate Angelus, so why should you hesitate to help us? Mr. Pryce!"_ He caught the edge of Wesley's sleeve as the older man made a move to retreat indoors. _"I can't let her die like that. She was entrusted to _me_, and I will not give up so easily. Whether you help me or not I will go after her – I would appreciate your help, but I do not require it."_

This last, unconscious display of pride cemented the decision for Wesley.

_"Very well. What's your plan?"_

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

"Ivane?"

"Yes?"

Carlotta looked at him from the corner of her eye.

"Why are you here? I mean, I know, to help me, but… didn't Kearm tell you not to come? Don't get me wrong, please, I-I guess I'd be twenty times more terrified if I was alone here, but… why did you come?"

Ivane looked uncomfortable.

"I told you," he answered awkwardly. "I thought it was best."

"Why?"

The Watcher glanced at her at last.

"Because I couldn't let you die. You are the first time that anyone has trusted me to do anything important. I would rather die trying than give up."

"Wow." Carlotta smiled. "Whatever idiot gave you Watcher status is wrong. You're the hero."

Ivane let out a short laugh.

"Hardly. You don't actually know me."

"Then spill. Prove you're 'just' a Watcher."

"I'm not sure I am even supposed to be that. I just had the misfortune to come from a Watcher family."

"So you got the short straw?"

Ivane looked at her, confused.

"Nora told me how at least one member of every Watcher family has to go to the Academy. So I asked if you were the unlucky one."

"I was the only one. I don't have any siblings. I've attended the Academy since I was five years old."

Carlotta's eyes went wide.

"_Five_? Isn't it a boarding school?"

"Yes."

"That's just evil!"

"It's not as though I could go home."

"What?"

Ivane froze. Damn. He'd said too much. Damn, damn…

"Grief is violent."

Carlotta saw Ivane's surprise as he turned to look at her again.

"That's what you meant. Grief is violent. You were speaking from experience. There was no one to go back to."

Ivane stayed frozen for a moment, not wanting to react. Then he changed the subject so abruptly Carlotta's head spun.

"It's nearly four-thirty. Wesley should be here soon."

"Wh-what? Okay, you lost me there, dude."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't say it before, there was a chance Angelus's minions might be listening."

Carlotta's eyes narrowed.

"You couldn't say what?"

Ivane grinned.

"I have a plan."

**Coming soon: The End**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, no money, Joss Whedon's, yadda yadda.

**As promised, The End.**

No one seemed to know what to say. Wesley was perfectly still, waiting for their reaction.

At last, Kearm stood suddenly, sheathing his knife with a grin.

"About damn _time_," he announced, revealing rows of serrated teeth. "Run the plan by us again on the way."

Lilah broke into a smile, unspeakably relieved. Nikki sprang to her feet with a cheer, Jenna flung aside the curtain concealing the group's ancient but well-maintained weaponry, and Lindsey grabbed his coat, speaking as he selected a sword.

"We'll need to abandon out 'united we stand' theory," he told Lilah, handing her a crossbow.

"Obviously. Wesley will have to go with you after Sirk," she replied, checking the alignment of an arrow. "Jenna and I will thin their ranks as much as we can. Nikki, I want you working on breaking down any illusions that might still be set up, especially around the perimeter." The little girl nodded curtly. "Kearm, you-"

"Find my best friend. Got it."

Wesley watched, the smallest of smiles playing about his face. It was almost the way it used to be; sharp, crisp orders, even sharper responses, everyone knowing each other so well they could anticipate each others' movements, a dangerous, suicidal mission, a plan that had remained hidden until the last moment. Unwittingly, his mind supplied the thought; _Damn, it's good to be back_.

He shook himself. He wasn't back. These were different people, different times, a different city. Lilah was giving the orders in the Slayer's place, the Watcher was not only reckless and practically a punk, but an outcast. A demon was the Watcher's best friend, a little girl was the source of almost all of their information, the Seer was a teenager with a past, and Lindsey, _Lindsey_ of all people had snapped into the role of a hero, suddenly risking everything to help a Slayer he'd never met.

Because that's what it was about now. Until five minutes ago this fight had been about taking out Angelus and Sirk, and the Slayer and her Watcher were casualties of war. Now, since the arrival of Wesley, with Ivane's insane plan in the open, there was hope. Only the smallest, barest scrap of it, yes, but immediately that hope was expended on saving their friends. They didn't need hope to fight evil; that they would do no matter what. But, with hope, they would risk death or worse to save two lives.

He wondered how long it would last.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

"You have a _plan_?" Carlotta tapped her foot on the floor, hand on her hip, looking at Ivane as though she wasn't sure whether to hug him or disembowel him. "And you didn't mention it an hour ago because…"

"I told you," Ivane answered, standing up and pulling something out of his pocket. "Sirk could easily have had a magical means of keeping an eye on us. It would entirely defeat the purpose of having a plan if he and Angelus found out about it. But they shouldn't be listening now, so I'll explain."

A bloodcurdling scream suddenly echoed through the sunken passageways. Carlotta jumped. Ivane smiled.

"You see this?" He held up a small, unevenly-shaped, glowing object, continuing as though nothing was wrong. "After you… disappeared, I went to see Wesley."

"Hold on." The Slayer looked suspicious. "Wesley, the traitor, friend of Angel's, worked for Wolfram and Hart, that Wesley?"

"He has just as much reason for hating Angelus as the rest of us do. More, perhaps, as Angelus killed Faith. And I couldn't think of anyone else who could have pulled off a spell like this. Mr. Pryce happens to know more about magical defenses than anyone alive," Ivane continued, "except perhaps Rosenberg's apprentice. In order for the plan to work, we needed to shut down at least some of Sirk's mystical weaponry, and the spell on this," he held up the glowing stone, "acts a magical neutralizer. From the moment I was captured it's been working on destroying a specific mystical signature, which-"

"Ivane! I'm sorry, but you're doing that Watcher thing. Gimme the short version."

"Right. Sorry. This thing takes apart spells."

A smile spread slowly over Carlotta's face.

"Giving the others a chance to get in and attack."

"Exactly. Some of them will be after Sirk, most likely Mr. Pryce and Lindsey, as they're our strongest wizards. Knowing Nikki-"

"She'll be helping from the outside. I'm assuming that little rock won't take apart all of Sirk's spells."

"And she'll reinforce any magic Pryce and Lindsey try to use. Lilah and Jenna will probably attack any guards they can find, to even the odds, and Kearm… I told Mr. Pryce to make sure Kearm is the one who comes looking for us. In the first place he can pick any lock on the planet, and in the second he's been looking for a way to pay me back for years."

"He has?"

"Er… long story."

"Is there a short version?"

Ivane hesitated.

"Kearm used to be a slave," he explained after a moment. "In a place called Gar-Gabelle. It's known for the brutality of its gladiatorial arena, and once when Kearm was hurt I… took offence to the fact that he was going to be forced to fight anyway. I offered to take his place, his master maintained that humans were too weak to fight in the arena, and I made a bet with him." He shrugged. "That's pretty much all it is."

"You made a bet," said Carlotta with a grin.

"Yes."

"That if you won, Kearm would go free."

"Yes."

"And did you win?"

A pause.

"No."

Carlotta crowed with laughter.

"You _have_ to tell me the rest of that once we're out of here."

"Ask Kearm. He's better at telling stories."

"So once we're out of here, where do we meet up to fight Angelus?"

"We… How-"

"Oh come on. I'm not stupid. Once the two magicians have taken out Sirk and the enemy's defenses are down, where do we meet up to fight Angelus?" She winked. "I may not have gone to school, but tactical is my specialty."

"Heeeeeeeey, they're not fighting. Alert the media," came a voice. The two teenagers jumped as a series of scraping noises began on the other side of the door. "I really expected you to have killed each other off by now."

Carlotta beamed and the door swung open. Kearm bowed dramatically.

"_And_ I got weapons," he announced, tossing a pair of knives to Ivane and a dirk to Carlotta. "Am I good, or am I good?"

"You're great," Carlotta assured him. "Where are the guards?"

"Dust, mostly. There's a whole bunch a few tunnels back, which is where I suggest we go, 'cause Jen and the Lady Morgana can't hold 'em all off by themselves. And Jeffy-"

"Don't call me that-"

"We're even."

"Obviously."

"Let's go then." Carlotta tested the weight of her favorite weapon, a familiar and dangerous smile baring her teeth. "We have work to do."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

"I won't even say how strange this is," Lindsey muttered as he and Wesley ducked through a half-collapsed doorway into yet another dark, empty tunnel.

"There is honestly no need to," Wesley replied. Whenever their eyes met, it was with undeniable, unfiltered hatred.

"But who would have thought," Lindsey continued, glancing over the words of a spell that he carried in his pocket, "that the two of us would end up united against Angelus. Not even Angel, mind you. Angelus. And fighting alongside Lilah, of all the âmes damnés, and a Slayer, who's her friend. Not to mention the fact that Lilah's pretty much second in command here. I mean, second, not first. Didn't you always figure she'd be running the show, whatever it was? And it would figure that it would be Sirk who came back to haunt me." He gave a small laugh. "At least it's not Linwood. So the Watcher's Council made a comeback, huh? I guess after Angelus killed that Buffy character, they had to do something. To bad they couldn't take care of him for us. But then again-"

"Will you shut up?" Wesley hissed. "Whatever happened to stealth, we're infiltrating enemy territory, _literally_, and you're babbling on! I thought you weren't going to say how strange this is!"

"So sorry." Lindsey tried and failed to smother a grin.

"Just one thing," Wesley demanded after a moment, steadfastly ignoring Lindsey rolling his eyes. "A question. Why is it that… that _we_ are seen as traitors, and yet _you_… you and Lilah…"

"Oh, we're seen as traitors," Lindsey responded, squinting into the vast darkness ahead from atop the cracked platform. "It just depends on who you ask. Lilah _really_ thinks you guys were traitors. So do the others, I think. Lilah and I were bad apples to begin with, so no one actually expects us to do anything _good_. You guys were the white hats. You were all for save the world and redemption, and then you get hit in a weak spot and pow! Suddenly you're working for Wolfram and Hart?" Lindsey turned to face him. "Everyone knew it. They just wouldn't admit it. What you did? That wasn't an opportunity to do good, you weren't fighting from within the belly of the beast. You were giving up."

Almost too quickly to be seen, Wesley grabbed Lindsey by the collar of his shirt and pushed him violently up against the wall.

"What right do you have to preach to me about conviction?" he spat, his voice low and scornful, echoing ominously through the abandoned tunnel. The moment stretched interminably, both pairs of flashing eyes daring the other to stand down first.

"Who's preaching?" A dry, brittle voice broke off Lindsey's reply. Instantly on guard, the two of them spun around, finding themselves face to face with an elderly man so innocuous-looking that they never would have given him a second glance had they passed him on the street. But an aura of power shimmered around him, and something in his bone-chilling, withered smile made him more terrifying than any horde or legion of hell that he might have summoned.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," the man continued, advancing slowly out of the dark. "Neither of you really have a right to _preach_, you know." The man kept moving forward. Lindsey met Wes's eyes. They flicked almost imperceptibly to the left. "I suppose I don't either, but…" The old man stopped, less than thirty feet away. "At least I'm not trying to. I just want to get my daughter back."

The explosion shattered the very walls of the tunnel, sending ancient tiling and shards of concrete ricocheting off the walls. Anybody caught in it would have been torn to pieces. But Lindsey had set up a magical shield of the strongest order in the time it took Sirk to cast the spell, and Wesley was already attacking from under the shield's protection.

Sirk's long, thin arm reached out calmly and caught Wesley's small fireglobe as though it were a no more than a baseball. His mouth stretched into a sardonic grin.

"I'll remind you that this little spell could barely defeat Vail, never mind me. Is this really the best you have?"

Sirk experienced a brief moment of consternation as Wesley's face twisted to match his own.

"No."

Then the fireball exploded.

Lindsey's shield was torn away, and both men were sent flying backwards. Simultaneously leaping to their feet, they shielded their eyes against the receding flash of light and tried to see through the thick screen of smoke. A movement behind them caught Lindsey's eye, and a pulsing blue flash met Sirk's sudden attack from behind as he spun around and combined the spell that was on Wesley's fingertips with his own. For several long seconds the two spells fizzed and burned as they clashed, filling the air with a smell like burning ammonia. Then, with a superhuman effort, Sirk pushed the combined spells away and threw Wes and Lindsey off what was left of the subway platform, dashing them bodily against the far wall.

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the hissing away of the titanic spells that had just been cast. Wes and Lindsey lay immobile under a dense could of smoke, not daring to move. Above, they could feel Sirk's gaze searching for them, darting through the fumes. Their eyes met.

Lindsey shook his head. _Magic ain't gonna cut it_, he seemed to say_. We can't beat this guy_. Wesley thought for a moment, his lips pressed tightly together. Then an old familiar gleam struck his eye.

_We don't have to_.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Sirk stood on the edge of the platform, exhausted but exhilarated. If he continued like this, soon he wouldn't need Rosenberg's apprentice to bring his daughter back. Let that Connor boy fend for himself – there was a new power on the rise. But first he had to get rid of these two. No power tolerated threats.

Flames licked up his right hand, burning the very air around him, but not his flesh. It was fitting, he supposed, for Pryce to go down under his own favored spell. He would have done the same for McDonald, but he had already stayed well below his radar by using the same runes he had taught him, so there was irony enough.

A flash of movement danced across his sightline, directly across from him. _That_ was where they were. Hiding like vermin under the slowly-dissipating fog. The smoke swirled again and a terrible, ghastly smile deformed his face. He took aim.

"I'm sorry boys," he called. "It seems I've stolen the honor of your deaths from Angelus."

A raspy voice behind him.

"Not quite."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Wesley dusted off his hands as the smoke settled once more around Sirk's still-sparking body.

"Nice push," Lindsey commented, draping an arm amicably across his shoulder.

"Thank you. It's nice to know the third rail is still working, isn't it?"

"Very. Come on. I think Lilah still needs our help."

"About Lilah…"

"Don't ask me, dude. I saw her for the first time in six years last night. For all I know, the girl's married."

"I doubt she's gone that far."

"True. Ready to fight the most dangerous vampire ever to have lived?"

"At the moment I feel ready for anything."

They walked back through the tunnels, looking for all the world like lifelong friends.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Kearm, Ivane, and Carlotta reached Jen and Lilah just as a fresh wave of vampires entered their tunnel. There were less, however, than Carlotta had expected.

"How come there's so few of them?" she shouted to Lilah, taking her place at her side and daring the undead to come. They hesitated slightly at the sight of these three new fighters suddenly coming to the rescue of the first two.

"We think they were keeping in contact through magical means," Lilah replied as the vampires charged. "Wesley's spell seems to have-" She paused a moment to reload her crossbow. "-to have cut off their communication, and instead they have to run through all the tunnels to tell each other what's going on."

"All the better for us. Where's- Hey. Speak of the devil."

Lindsey and Wes appeared unexpectedly, making their way through the mass of vampires from behind. It was seven against fifteen. They had finished in a matter of minutes.

"Hopefully not too many of them got away to sound the alarm," Kearm remarked. "How's the Great Whodunit?"

"It's Houdini," Jenna muttered.

"Dead," said Lindsey with a grin. "I know it's been said before, but I love the fact that the third rail's still working."

"Third rail?" Ivane looked confused.

"The electric one," Carlotta whispered.

Lindsey looked around.

"You know, at this rate," he mused. "This could actually go pretty well. How's the injury status?"

"Almost perfect, actually," Lilah told him.

Carlotta's head snapped up.

"What did you say?" she demanded.

"Um… almost perfect. Hardly any injuries, Sirk's out of the picture, the minions can't get to us all that quickly, plus this tunnel's too narrow for many of them to make their way through…" She stopped as it hit her suddenly. "Oh."

Carlotta looked grim.

"Sounds too perfect, huh?" She looked around. "Case in point: has anyone seen Angelus yet?"

No answer. They all understood at once; he was playing with them. He probably hadn't meant for Sirk to die, but Carlotta was right. This was too easy.

A child's terrified shriek tore suddenly through the tunnel. Kearm went white.

"Nikki!"

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

They followed Kearm, who was able to track Nikki's scent through the damp, crumbling tunnels. They met with no more vampires. It was clear now, that Angelus had been toying with them. Kearm was nearly foaming at the mouth, letting out explosive oaths in his native tongue whenever they came to a dead end, oaths which Ivane refused to translate.

Carlotta was sweating, but when she put her hand to her forehead she drew it back cold. Would they blame her if Nikki died? She hadn't had any control over it, but Kearm… Kearm might not draw that distinction. He would be devastated. And Angelus was capable of anything.

"There," said Kearm suddenly, knife drawn. The tunnel ended at a platform, still spotted with peeling advertisements for ancient Broadway plays. A stone arch with the number twenty-three stood at its end, and through it dim light filtered, with the promise of open space.

"Grand Central," Lilah muttered. "Plenty of room for us to be surrounded once we're in there."

Carlotta's eyes narrowed, her mind working. As she had said before, tactical was her specialty.

"I don't know if there's any way for us to get in safely," she muttered. "Angelus can't miss an opportunity like this. Rushing in there is out of the-"

"Kearm!" Ivane yelled, interrupting her. The blue demon was sprinting for the archway, too enraged to wait for the Slayer. Afraid of losing his friend, Ivane ran after, hoping to stop him from doing anything suicidal. Exasperated, Carlotta followed suit, and Jenna, seeing her role model throwing caution to the winds, rushed off down the platform as well.

The three adults looked at each other.

"We lost the kids," said Lindsey after a moment. Lilah shrugged.

"Oh well. Nice seeing you two. Sort of." They ran after the others.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The archway opened almost directly onto the Grand Concourse, as wide and open as ever. The group burst in, dangerously exposed. There was absolute silence. The walls were lined with vampires, coming up from the lower levels and perched on the crumbling stairs, watching them greedily and licking their lips. But no one moved. Carlotta glanced up. The blue-green ceiling was chipped and lined with a spider's web of cracks, but the outlines of the constellations that had once been this building's glory were still visible. It made her shiver.

"Well, well, well." Angelus smiled down at them from the raised end of the room. Not a breath of air disturbed the silence between his words. "Look at that, Nikki. They're here at last."

Kearm made as though to charge forward, but Ivane held him back. Nikki, half-strangled by Angelus's hand round her throat, swallowed a squeak. It was a pitiful thing to see; this little girl, trying to be brave, but with her face as white as a sheet and her eyes like dinner plates.

"I'm going to let my vampires kill you in a few minutes," Angelus announced. "But I'd really rather like to kill you all myself, so… any volunteers for a one-on-one? I promise, the minute I'm dead, these guys'll leave you alone. Cross my heart." The wicked smile widened.

"Once you're dead, there will be no one to control them," Wesley countered. "So even if we beat you we would still die. We aren't complete idiots."

"Is that so, Wes?" The vampire's icy voice shivered down their spines. He let out a small laugh. "Ha. Old Wes. Got a present for you." He released his hold on Nikki for a moment to toss something across the floor towards the humans. Wesley flinched back automatically, then stiffened as a cascade of silver coins rolled out of a torn paper bag. "Thirty of 'em, Prycie. Count if you like."

A smile to counter Angelus's slithered onto Wesley's lips. Stepping forward, he picked up a single coin and slipped it into his pocket.

"Thirty was the price for someone of much more importance," he smirked. "All _I_ ever betrayed was you."

The vampire's grin disappeared, suddenly found on the faces of his opponents instead. His eyes narrowed.

"I told you," came the warning. "It's a one-on-one, or a massacre. Take your pick."

Wesley opened his mouth to refuse, but Carlotta caught his arm.

"I say we do it," she whispered. "If one of us kills Angelus, the others might have a chance to escape."

"Besides which," Ivane added, "the vampires may be too afraid to attack Angelus's killer."

"Are you nuts?" Lindsey hissed. "Angelus is the only thing holding them back!"

"Besides, there's no promise of safety for the rest of us while Angelus is fighting," Jenna pointed out, crossing her arms.

"A one-on-one is the only chance we have!" Lilah protested.

"Exactly!" agreed the Slayer. "Do you think we can stand up to _all _of these guys?"

"The minute Angelus steps away from Nikki the others will attack her!" Kearm refused to back down. "Do _you_ think she can fight them off?"

"Listen, Kearm-"

"Shut up, Ivane. I don't owe you anything anymore."

Ivane went white, suddenly dropping out of the conversation. He knew that Kearm had repaid his debt, but… they had been each others' only friends for years. He had thought they could at least disagree without becoming enemies.

Without becoming…

That was it. Angelus didn't _need_ to separate them to divide them. This had been his plan from the beginning. That was why no one had killed Carlotta while she was in the dungeon. That was why they had been able to regroup so easily. Angelus didn't want an easy kill, he wanted to watch the heroes tear each other apart.

"Er, excuse me…"

They kept arguing in hushed voices, poised to fight the vampires, but, with no enemy immediately forthcoming, unwittingly turning their enmity on each other. The young Watcher couldn't help but marvel at the simplicity of it, the brilliance. This was why no one had ever managed to kill the Scourge of Europe. Even when he lost, he fundamentally weakened his enemies.

"Excuse me."

They glanced at him, but only momentarily. He had nothing to say, so they turned back to those who were speaking. It was genius really. The constant presence of a threat, but that threat never really becoming danger. Genius. It was impossible not to admire it.

"Hello!"

Nothing. Not enough to shake them up. Ivane winced. Time to do what he probably did worse than anybody in the world. Willingly draw attention to himself.

"QUIET!"

The shout made them start, expecting the vampires to attack. But it stopped the bickering in its tracks.

"I can't believe you caught that." Angelus shook his head. Ivane just glared, the others unsure of what the vampire meant. "Well, since you can't seem to decide…" He lifted Nikki by the throat again, watching her kicking and whimpering for a moment before clucking his tongue and holding out a hand, in which the lackey behind him placed a syringe. "Here's a little mystery for you. What makes your brain reverse its cycles, relinquishes your control of your mind and body, and has been known to cause dangerous hallucinations?" His poisonous smile winked at Nikki, and the little girl screamed.

"No… no, please…" she sobbed. "Please…"

"You don't know? Ask Wes again, he can probably tell you. Wave bye-bye, Nikki."

Nikki shrieked in terror, Kearm let out a roar, and the needle plunged into Nikki's arm. At that signal, the vampires attacked.

Kearm fought out of remorse. Nikki was his family, the little girl he had rescued from a hell on earth as deep as the one in which he had grown up. How could he let this happen? The world was insane, nothing but fangs and steel surrounding him, he couldn't see her, he couldn't see his poor Nikki, but nothing could have kept him from hearing her. She was screaming, screaming, screaming, it wasn't fair, it shouldn't be allowed, what had she ever done to deserve this, it wasn't fair… He caught sight of Ivane, fighting by his side out of habit, despite what Kearm had said. No time to regret it, although he would if he had the chance. What a stupid thing to say, to further screw up what he had done to the people who were important to him. But that was just typical; he had gone back to the way he had been in the arena, all but soulless, just for a moment, and now he was going to die fighting, just the way he always knew he would. How had he let this happen?

Lilah fought out of outrage. _It's not fair!_ her lost sense of justice cried. _You can't do this me; I'm not supposed to die like this! It hasn't been long enough, I haven't… I haven't redeemed myself yet._ Tears welled in her eyes as she battled to stay alive and within the circle they had quickly formed. _It isn't fair! I can't die before I make up for what I've done. If I die now I'll go back to Hell, please God I can't go back there, don't let me die before I fix what I've done, please, I couldn't bear it if I went back there, please, you can't do this to me, please…_ She hadn't realized that her thoughts had become words, all but drowned by the screams and war-cries. For the first time in her life, Lilah Morgan was praying.

Wesley fought out of habit. Fighting was all that was left of his life, long abandoned to nothingness, and he was used to the way his mind went blank when he fought to live, the violent emptiness that was so infinitely preferable to the despair that consumed the rest of his existence. So he was surprised, despite himself, to find that he was thinking throughout the battle. It made no sense for him to be thinking now. His thoughts were usually completely vacant when he fought. _But something_, he was realizing,_ doesn't add up. If I'm so empty, if I care about nothing, why am I fighting at all? Why did the sight of that syringe full of Orpheus driving into that girl's arm make my heart ache? Why did the thought of one set of young heroes going out to save another, despite the hopelessness of their cause, make me feel like, for the first time in far, far too long, I was home? Something has changed. I have a reason._

Ivane fought out of anger, pure fury. The one time he had been entrusted with something, the one time it seemed he, who had been fighting evil all his life, would truly be able to help the Slayer, the only real hero in which he believed… and now he was going to die with her, defeated by Angelus as so many others had been, as though nothing he had done had mattered, as though he had never been anybody. He had failed her. He was her Watcher, and he had been unable to protect her. And all he could do was lash out in rage. _Maybe things _can't_ go well after all_. He shuddered. _Maybe there _isn't_ any point to hoping. Maybe evil _will_ prevail, no matter what._ But even then, convinced that he was about to die, he didn't believe it. Because he knew from experience that good would last as long as hope did. And he had spent his whole life surviving on hope.

Lindsey fought out of curiosity. What would happen, he wondered, if he fought for the side of good? Would he feel any different? Would that conscience he had felt developing suddenly have a say in his actions? Would he regret his days at Wolfram and Hart any more than he already did? Or would he just die? It seemed any of those possibilities were equally likely. Perhaps the dying more than the others, though. He seemed to be waiting, as he fought, for something to occur. _It's not quite so crass as "I need a sign,"_ he mused as he decapitated one of his assailants. _But if something happens, I'll believe._

Jenna fought out of fear. It was the only thing that filled her mind. _I don't want to die! Oh, God, I just don't want to die! I'm only fourteen, I haven't _done_ anything yet, please, I don't want to die! I'm supposed to have a whole life to live, I… I know it! I saw it! But there's no way out of this, oh help me, someone, please, I don't want to die! Mom, I promised I would find you, Dad, I promised I'd be strong, but I _can't_! Because I'm going to die, and I'm never going to grow up and I'm never going to get a job and I'll never have a boyfriend or learn algebra or drive a car or cook dinner for my kids, and _PLEASE_, I don't want to die, I'm scared, I don't want to die, please, God, don't let me die, I'm too scared, I can't stand this, I don't want to go!_ She took a deep breath between attackers. _But if Carlotta can do it, so can I_.

Carlotta fought because it was her birthright. This is what she was born to do, and to go down fighting surrounded by innumerable enemies was the death she had expected from the moment her first Watcher had recited the ancient litany – "into each generation a Slayer is born." At first she battled like a demon herself, cutting a swathe that the vampires had to rush to fill. But then she caught sight of the others, read the range of emotions on their faces, and her momentum slowed. It wasn't that she no longer wanted to fight, it was just… she didn't want the others to die. Jenna was her friend, Lilah was her fellow-strategist, Ivane was… a little weird, but they had managed to get along just then… then she shook herself. _Forget a normal life, Carlotta. Normal girls may have it easy, but I wouldn't trade my abilities for anything in the world. Nora's death, the deaths of my other Watchers, and the deaths that are about to occur have placed too high a price on what I do for me to ever turn my back on it._ The only thing that could have been more right than dying this way would have been living.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Nikki's head reeled. In the mad rush to exterminate the heroes and please Angelus she had been forgotten, dropped at the foot of the stone stairs leading up to where the vampire stood, smiling his cruel smile and overseeing the carnage with nothing short of glee. In Nikki's bewildered state she wasn't sure if he was the enemy or a friend. She tried to remember.

_"Wave bye-bye, Nikki."_

The ice-blue eyes narrowed. Oh yeah. He was that mean guy.

Her mind still couldn't quite grapple reality. She could feel the Orpheus in her veins – the most familiar sensation in the world to her, and the one she most feared. Nikki had never forgotten anything in her life, and now the memories of her earliest years swooped down on her with a vengeance. It wasn't until several minutes later that she realized she still hadn't stopped screaming.

She forced herself to be quiet. Focusing, concentrating all of her mental power on one thing was the best way she knew of combating the mystical drug's effects, and it had come to her aid time and time again, when by all rights the drug should have killed her. It was only because her mind was so distorted that she was able to withstand the Orpheus at all.

So what were those people doing? Fighting. Turning each other to dust.

Why? This question took longer to answer. At last it came to her. They were fighting… for her. They had started fighting when the mean guy hurt her… so they were good guys… fighting mean guys…

A diabolical smile crossed Nikki's face. Another thought had occurred to her. A memory. Of reading a spell, some time ago. Something about evaporating stone. Requiring extreme mental force behind it… but she had that. Thanks to Angelus and the drug that had been her nightmare, she had that.

Carlotta paused for a moment, finding her opponent hesitant. He kept glancing at the ceiling, along with his companions, shifting nervously, needlessly, as he fought. The Slayer tried to hear what they were whispering.

"Th-the ceiling! Look at the ceiling!"

_The ceiling?_ Kearm wondered, unable to spare a look that his adversary might exploit. _What's wrong with the ceiling?_

_It's cracking_, Lilah realized, not really understanding. _What the- The roof is cracking._

_Where's it going?_ Lindsey stabbed at a vampire who had taken his eyes off of him for a moment too long. _Why isn't it falling?_

Similar thoughts ran through the minds of every being in the room. Angelus bellowed orders to his troops.

"If a single one of you backs down I'll make you wish you were never born! Keep fighting, you cowards, it's only cracking, not falling! The ceiling's not-"

A little girl supplied the word.

"There?" she said sweetly, and the last layer of stone hissed away, allowing the sunlight to come pouring in.

The humans ducked to avoid the sudden pillars of flame, although Kearm remained standing, his tough blue skin being rather, well, fireproof. It was some time before the vampire's howls, either burning or retreating into the tunnels, ceased to echo. The friends slowly stood up.

So they trudged on home, squinting occasionally at the sun as though unable to believe that it was really there. Halfway back Jenna burst out laughing out of sheer relief, and once they started it was nearly impossible to stop.

"Hang on a second," said Lindsey, holding up a hand. "You said Jenna had a vision of an invisible man?"

"Yeah," the Seer replied, still giggling.

"Okay… Look, I'm not an expert on psychics, but… that's not how the other Seer saw it."

"What Seer?"

"Years ago, I mean. Cordelia, when she had a vision of me, way back when. She didn't see empty rooms or anything. I mean… these runes are supposed to protect me from magical surveillance, so… you shouldn't have seen a thing. If you had a vision at all it should have been of the symbols themselves, not an invisible man."

"That's right." Kearm nodded. "Runes like that are supposed to protect you from psychics."

"So if Jenna didn't see Lindsey, who the hell'd she see?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Kearm glanced up at Nikki, who was riding on his shoulders.

"Okay, Nikki, once again… we don't have a clue."

Nikki grinned.

"It was Wesley," she replied, spreading her arms as though it were obvious. "That's how he snuck up on Ivane and that monster in the cave."

"Uh oh."

Heads turned again. Ivane looked nervous.

"Now what?" Lilah asked, half-apprehensively.

"I hate to be the one to bring this up, but…" The Watcher hesitated. "Angelus was down at the end of the room. There might actually have been time for him to get out. We _did_ hear some of the vampires escaping, didn't we?"

There was silence.

"You know what?" Carlotta said after a moment. "Let's deal with that tomorrow."

If this were a fairy tale, I could tell you that they lived happily ever after. I can't. Most of them were injured, some burned, and all were exhausted to almost beyond their limits. They all died, eventually, because, after all, everyone has to die. But they didn't die then, and they didn't die the next day either, and maybe "happily ever after" is all in the eye of the beholder, because, at that moment, not a one of them was not happy. It is difficult to be unhappy when one has just survived a situation in which one expected nothing more than an extremely painful death. And while they would never actually call themselves heroes, you would be hard pressed to find someone to argue that they weren't.

**The End**


End file.
